THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


o 

CTTUL^ 


t 


i 


a.eoY>  Vrv. 


I 
f\ 


A   SECRET   OF   THE    SEA 


A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA.  By  BRANDER  MAT- 
THEWS, i  vol.  12010 $i 

THE  LAST  MEETING.  By  BRANDER  MAT- 
THEWS, i  vol.  i2mo i 

IN  PARTNERSHIP.  Studies  in  Story-Tell- 
ing. By  BRANDER  MATTHEWS  and  H.  C.  BUN- 

NER.     i  vol.  121110.     Paper 

Cloth i 

THE  THEATRES  OF  PARIS.  By  BRANDER 
MATTHEWS,  i  vol.  i2mo i 

FRENCH  DRAMATISTS  OF  THE  NINE- 
TEENTH CENTURY.  By  BRANDER  MAT- 
THEWS, i  vol.  crown  8vo a 

POEMS    OF    AMERICAN     PATRIOTISM. 

Chosen  by  BRANDER  MATTHEWS,     i  vol.  i2mo    .     i 

SHERIDAN'S  COMEDIES.  Edited,  with  a  Bi- 
ographical Sketch  of  Sheridan,  by  BRANDER  MAT- 
THEWS, i  vol.  square  8vo 3 


A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 


BY 
BRANDER    MATTHEWS 


NEW   YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1886 


COPYRIGHT,  1886,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


?s 

2572 


ANDREW    LANG 


•/  have  been  a  great  Traveller  in  Fairy-land  myself 

STKELH'S  Tender  Husband,  Act  i.  Scene  L 


166913? 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA i 

I.  PIRACY  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS  ....  3 
II.  A  STERN  CHASE  .  .  .  .  .20 
III.  TAKING  SOUNDINGS 34 

iv.  IN  THE  PIRATE'S  LAIR 50 

'LovE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 65 

BRIEF— AS  WOMAN'S  LOVE 93 

PERCHANCE  TO  DREAM 127 

PERTURBED  SPIRITS 165 

ESTHER  FEVEREL     .       .       .       .       .       .       .    .  197 


A   SECRET  OF  THE   SEA 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 


PIRACY  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS. 

TIME  was  when  the  R.M.S.  '  Patagonia '  was  the 
greyhound  of  the  Atlantic ;  but  that  time  was 
long  past.  Newer  and  larger  boats,  burning  less 
coal  and  making  more  knots,  had  been  built  nearly 
every  year  since  the  '  Patagonia '  had  beaten  the 
record  by  crossing  the  ocean  in  less  than  eight 
days  from  Browhead  Castle  to  Fire  Island  Light. 
Now  not  only  were  there  other  deer-hounds  of  the 
deep  two  days  faster  than  the  '  Patagonia '  had  ever 
been,  but  the  '  Patagonia '  herself,  like  the  man  who 
went  around  the  world,  had  lost  a  day.  Although 
the  '  Patagonia '  had  changed  owners,  and  was  now 
no  longer  a  royal  mail  steam-ship,  it  had  not  yet 
fallen  to  the  low  estate  of  the  sea-tramp,  a  home- 
less wanderer  over  the  face  of  the  waters,  bearing 
hides  from  Buenos  Ayres  on  one  trip,  and  on  the 
next  carrying  coals  from  Newcastle.  She  still 
belonged  to  a  line  in  good  repute,  and  she  still 
made  her  regular  round  trip  every  five  weeks  from 
Liverpool  to  New  York. 


4  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

Thus  it  was  that  the  New  York  newspapers 
had  to  announce  one  Sunday  morning,  after  the 
New  England  spring  '  had  set  in  with  its  usual 
severity,'  that  the  '  Patagonia'  had  sailed  from  Liver- 
pool the  day  before,  having  on  board  eighty-seven 
first-cabin  passengers  and  two  hundred  and  eleven 
in  the  steerage,  and  bringing  also  ioo,ooo/.  in 
gold.  In  due  course  the  ( Patagonia '  ought  to  have 
arrived  at  Sandy  Hook  about  ten  days  after  she 
left  the  Mersey.  Except  when  detained  by  stress 
of  weather,  the  '  Patagonia '  was  wont  to  arrive  off 
Quarantine  not  later  than  Tuesday  afternoon.  But 
on  this  occasion  Tuesday  night  came,  and  Wed- 
nesday night,  and  yet  the  '  Patagonia '  came  not.  It 
happened  that  the  R.M.S.  '  Barataria,'  which  was 
then  devoting  its  energies  to  the  lowering  of  the 
record,  had  left  Liverpool  an  hour  later  than  the 
'  Patagonia,'  had  waited  for  the  mails  at  Queenstown, 
as  the  '  Patagonia  '  had  not,  and  yet  had  landed  its 
passengers  on  Sunday  morning.  Nor  did  the 
officers  of  the  '  Barataria '  report  any  storms  which 
would  justify  the  tardiness  of  the  '  Patagonia.'  It 
was  known,  however,  that  the  missing  ship  was 
perfectly  sea-worthy,  and,  indeed,  in  excellent  con- 
dition, and  her  captain  was  a  thorough  sailor.  So 
many  little  mishaps  may  occur  to  delay  an  ocean 
steamer — the  bearings  may  get  themselves  over- 
heated, or  it  may  be  necessary  to  stop  the  engines 
in  mid-ocean  to  repack  the  steam-chest— that  no 
anxiety  was  felt  by  the  public. 

Just  then,  indeed,  the  public  had  no  attention 


A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  5 

to  spare  for  so  slight  a  matter  as  a  day's  delay  of 
an  ocean  steamer,  when  the  foundering  of  a  Govern- 
ment despatch-boat  nearly  a  fortnight  before  had 
been  followed  by  the  fraudulent  failure  of  a  specu- 
lative banking  house,  bringing  down  in  its  wake  a 
score  of  smaller  concerns,  including  an  insurance 
company  and  a  savings  bank.  Day  after  day  Wall 
Street  trembled  with  the  recurring  shocks  of  failure. 
The  market,  which  before  the  fall  of  the  specula- 
tive banking-house  had  been  firm  and  active, 
became  feverish  and  weak ;  stocks  began  to  fall 
off  three  and  four  points  at  a  drop ;  the  boom  of 
Saturday  gave  place  to  a  blizzard  by  Thursday. 
While  the  Street  was  excited  over  the  sudden  col- 
lapse of  the  great  corner  in  Transcontinental  Tele- 
graph, the  city  had  no  time  or  emotion  to  spare  on 
the  overdue  '  Patagonia.' 

When  at  last  the  '  Patagonia '  did  arrive,  she 
brought  news  of  a  sensation  more  startling  than  the 
foundering  of  a  United  States  despatch-boat  or  the 
fraudulent  failure  of  a  firm  of  speculative  bankers. 
It  was  noon  when  the  '  Patagonia '  was  sighted  off 
Fire  Island  Light,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
before  she  reached  her  dock.  Yet  news  flies  fast, 
and  the  latest  editions  of  the  evening  papers  ap- 
peared with  flaming  head-lines  over  a  few  brief  but 
double-leaded  paragraphs,  declaring  that  the  most 
extraordinary  rumours  were  in  circulation  through- 
out the  lower  part  of  the  city  to  the  effect  that  the 
'  Patagonia,'  which  had  just  arrived  in  dock,  had 
been  stopped  off  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland  by  a 


6  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

pirate.  The  officers  of  the  '  Patagonia '  were  reticent 
At  the  office  of  the  owners  of  the  line  the  clerks 
did  not  deny  the  report,  but  refused  to  give  any 
information.  All  efforts  to  discover  the  where- 
abouts of  the  captain  of  the  '  Patagonia '  had  been 
unsuccessful  hitherto,  and  the  reporters  had  been 
obliged  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  conducting  that 
illegal  mingling  of  the  cross-examination  and  of 
the  examination-in-chief  known  as  an  interview. 

A  little  before  eight  that  evening  the  streets 
were  sprinkled  with  vociferant  boys  who  rushed 
about  violently  proclaiming  an  '  extra '  with  shrill 
but  not  altogether  articulate  annunciation  of  its 
contents.  Those  who  were  beguiled  into  the  pur- 
chasing of  this  catchpenny  read  a  circumstantial 
account,  of  the  attack  on  the  'Patagonia'  by  a 
Chinese  dhow.  The  ingenious  writer  gave  a  thril- 
ling account  of  the  sea-fight — an  account  which 
seemed  somehow  familiar  to  those  who  had  once 
read  '  Hard  Cash.'  He  gave  precise  details  as  to 
the  crew  and  armament  of  the  pirate.  He  set 
forth  succinctly  the  piteous  appeals  of  the  purser  as 
the  heathen  Chinee  removed  the  ioo,ooo/.  specie 
from  the  strong-room  of  the  '  Patagonia '  to  their 
own  light  little  skiffs.  He  was  very  dramatic  in 
his  description  of  the  death  of  the  captain  of  the 
'  Patagonia,'  who,  so  he  declared,  had  been  forced 
to  walk  the  plank— a  deadly  form  of  pedestrian 
exercise  much  in  favour  among  pirates,  as  every- 
body knew.  This  imaginative  effort  appeared  in 
the  '  Comet,'  a  new  evening  journal,  conducted  by 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  7 

Mr.  Martin  Terwilliger,  who  was  formerly  the 
editor  of  the  New  Centreville  (California)  '  Gazette- 
Standard,'  and  who  was  now  trying  to  introduce 
into  Eastern  journalism  the  push  and  the  go  he 
had  found  successful  in  the  West. 

The  account  of  the  strange  adventure  which 
had  befallen  the  '  Patagonia '  printed  in  the  New 
York  papers  of  Friday  morning  was  more  sober 
than  the  highly  spiced  story  in  Mr.  Terwilliger's 
extra,  and  the  details  given  were  ampler  and  more 
exact.  It  seems  that  the  '  Patagonia '  had  had  an 
uneventful  trip,  and  on  Saturday  afternoon  the 
passengers  were  looking  forward  to  their  arrival 
early  in  the  week.  Among  the  passengers  were 
many  notabilities — Judge  Gillespie,  Mr.  Cable  J. 
Dexter,  the  great  Chicago  grain  operator,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Eliphalet  Duncan,  Miss  Daisy  Fostelle,  and 
her  enterprising  manager,  Mr.  Z.  Kilburn.  On 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  the  '  Patagonia '  was  in 
latitude  45°  32'  and  longitude  50°  28'  a  steamer 
hove  in  sight  off  the  port  bow.  It  was  a  long, 
low,  rakish  craft,  all  black.  It  had  evidently  been 
waiting  for  the  '  Patagonia,'  for  as  soon  as  it  had  had 
time  to  make  sure  of  the  '  Patagonia's '  identity,  it  ran 
across  her  course,  fired  a  shot  across  her  bows,  and 
ran  up  the  signal  Q.  H.,  which  means  '  Stop  ;  I  have 
something  to  communicate.'  The  firing  of  this  shot 
by  the  strange  ship  caused  the  most  intense  excite- 
ment and  alarm  on  board  of  the  '  Patagonia,'  which 
was  not  allayed  when  the  meaning  of  the  signal 
was  made  known.  While  the  officers  of  the  '  Pata- 


8  A   SECRET  OF  THE^  SEA 

gonia'  were  in  consultation,  the  stranger  fired  a 
second  shot  across  her  bows,  and  ran  up  a  second 
signal,  P.  F. — '  I  want  a  boat  immediately.'  The 
firing  of  this  second  shot  increased  the  anxiety 
and  doubt  on  board  the  'Patagonia.'  The  excited 
passengers  besought  the  officers  to  explain  what 
this  meant.  Experienced  passengers,  accustomed 
to  cross  the  ocean  twice  a  year,  declared  that  the 
firing  of  a  shot  was  a  thing  absolutely  unheard  of 
except  in  time  of  war.  There  was  an  immediate 
discussion  as  to  whether  war  could  have  broken 
out  since  the  '  Patagonia  '  left  Liverpool.  An  Irish 
gentleman  on  board  declared  that  these  were  the 
first  shots  fired  by  the  new  dynamite  cruiser  of  the 
new  navy  of  the  new  Irish  Republic.  While  the 
passengers  were  thus  seeking  the  truth,  the  captain 
of  the  '  Patagonia  '  had  ordered  her  engines  slowed 
down.  By  this  time  the  strange  ship  was  barely  a 
mile  from  them,  and  it  was  then  easy  to  see  many 
suspicious  circumstances.  For  one  thing,  not  a 
single  member  of  the  crew  was  visible.  To  those 
with  any  knowledge  it  was  plain  at  once  that  the 
stranger  was  heavily  armed,  and  that  the  single 
huge  gun  it  carried  amidships,  easily  to  be  seen 
from  the  deck  of  the  '  Patagonia,'  had  range  and 
weight  enough  to  sink  the  '  Patagonia '  by  a  single 
shot.  The  extreme  speed  of  the  stranger  was  also 
apparent,  as  it  had  turned,  and  without  difficulty  it 
was  keeping  ahead  of  the  '  Patagonia,'  and  at  the 
same  distance  from  her.  A  deputation  of  the  pas- 
sengers immediately  waited  on  the  captain  to  beg 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  9 

him  to  send  a  boat  at  once,  before  the  stranger 
fired  a  third  time.  The  captain  had  already  given 
orders  to  stop  the  engines  and  to  lower  a  boat. 
The  third  officer  took  his  seat  in  this  boat,  and  the 
men  pulled  out  straight  for  the  stranger.  A  move- 
ment was  at  once  visible  on  board  the  armed 
steamer  ;  the  signal  flags  were  taken  in,  and  a  boat 
was  launched  on  the  port  side,  out  of  sight  from 
the  '  Patagonia.'  This  boat  proved  to  be  a  gig,  for 
it  shot  around  the  bow  of  the  stranger,  and  met 
the  cutter  from  the  '  Patagonia '  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away.  A  communication  was  passed  from 
one  boat  to  the  other,  and  each  pulled  for  its  own 
ship.  On  reaching  the  '  Patagonia,'  the  third  officer 
went  at  once  to  the  captain's  room.  He  bore  a 
sealed  envelope  addressed  to  the  captain.  This 
address,  like  the  letter  within,  was  written,  or 
rather  printed,  on  a  type-writer.  The  letter  was  as 
follows  : 

S.  S.  'Dare-Devil,' 

Off  the  Banks, 
April   ist,  1882. 
Captain  Riding, 

S.  S.  'Patagonia,' 
Sir: 

You  have  on  board  in  specie 
100, ooo /.  I  will  accept  this  as  the 
ransom  of  your  ship.  Send  it  to  me, 
20, ooo/.  atatime,  on  five  tripsof  your 
cutter.  If  I  do  not  receive  the  first 
instalment  within  fifteen  minutes 


ro  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

after   you   read    this,  I    shall    sink  you 
with    a   shot    from   my    long   gun. 
Your   obedient   servant, 

Lafitte, 
Commanding    Free    Cruiser 

'Dare-Devil.' 

As  the  captain  finished  reading  this  peremptory 
letter  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  on  deck,  and 
one  of  the  junior  officers  rushed  in  to  report  that 
the  stranger  had  raised  the  Black  Flag.  The  cap- 
tain stepped  on  deck,  and  with  his  glass  easily 
made  out  the  white  skull  and  cross-bones  which 
adorned  the  black  flag  flying  from  the  peak  of  the 
'  Dare-Devil.'  A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  the 
excited  passengers.  Mr.  Kilburn  headed  a  depu- 
tation which  begged  the  captain  to  surrender  any- 
thing and  everything  for  the  sake  of  saving  the 
lives  and  liberties  of  the  passengers.  Mr.  Cable 
J.  Dexter,  who  had  previously  taken  the  affair  as  a 
huge  joke,  read  the  letter  from  the  '  Dare-Devil,'  and 
asked  the  captain  if  a  single  shot  would  really  sink 
the  '  Patagonia.'  The  captain  answered  that  a  single 
shot  in  the  compartment  amidships  might  sink 
the  ship,  and  that  two  or  three  shots  would  do  it 
unfailingly.  'Then,'  said  Mr.  Dexter,  'you  had 
better  hand  over  the  gold.  I  have  an  engagement 
in  Chicago  on  Saturday  morning,  and  I  shall  be 
late  for  it  if  I  have  to  swim  ashore  from  here.' 
Although  Mr.  Dexter  seemed  cool  enough  to  jest, 
most  of  the  passengers  were  in  a  state  of  intense 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  il 

excitement,  and  this  was  much  increased  by  the 
announcement  that  the  long  gun  on  the  upper  deck 
of  the  '  Dare-Devil '  had  just  been  loaded,  and  was 
now  trained  on  the  '  Patagonia.' 

By  this  time  ten  minutes  had  elapsed  since  the 
boat  had  returned,  and  suddenly  a  third  shot  from 
the  'Dare-Devil'  ploughed  the  water  just  ahead  of 
the  '  Patagonia',  and  a  third  signal  was  run  up,  J.  D. 
— 'You  are  standing  into  danger.'  Then  the*  cap- 
tain yielded.  The  purser  had  already  opened  the 
strong  room,  and  the  tightly  sealed,  iron-strapped, 
hard-wood  boxes  of  specie  were  at  once  carried  on 
deck.  Each  box  held  5,ooo/.,  and  weighed  about 
a  hundred  pounds.  Four  of  them  were  carefully 
placed  in  the  bottom  of  the  cutter.  Fortunately 
there  was  only  a  light  breeze,  and  there  was  no 
sea  on  at  all,  only  the  long  swell  always  to  be  ex- 
pected off  the  Banks.  The  boat  pulled  for  the 
'  Dare-Devil,'  and,  as  before,  the  gig  came  around 
the  bow.  The  transfer  of  the  precious  boxes  was 
made  as  quickly  and  as  carefully  as  possible. 
When  the  cutter  returned  for  its  second  load,  the 
officer  reported  that  the  three  men  in  the  gig  were 
all  masked,  but  that  he  took  them  for  Orientals  of 
some  sort,  as  their  hands  and  wrists  were  dark. 
Five  times  the  cutter  carried  away  four  boxes,  con- 
taining each  5,ooo/.,  and  five  times  the  gig  came 
out  to  receive  the  ransom.  Before  the  fifth  trip 
was  completed  night  was  falling.  When  the  third 
officer  reached  the  deck  after  the  delivery  of  trie 
final  instalment  of  the  ioo,ooo/.,  he  took  two 


12  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

\ 

sealed  communications  to  the  captain.  Both  voere 
printed  on  a  type-writer.  One  was  a  receipt  for 
the  gold,  signed  '  Lafitte.'  The  other  was  an  order 
to  the  captain  of  the  '  Patagonia '  to  turn  on  her 
course  and  to  sail  back  toward  Ireland  until  mid- 
night, when  she  might  turn  and  proceed  again  to 
New  York.  Until  night  made  it  impossible  to  see 
clearly,  the  passengers  of  the  '  Patagonia '  watched 
the  '  Dare-Devil '  steaming  in  their  wake.  At  mid- 
night precisely,  Captain  Riding  changed  his  course 
and  headed  for  New  York,  arriving  without  further 
adventure. 

This  was,  in  substance,  the  story  which  held 
the  place  of  honour  in  eveiy  New  York  newspaper 
the  morning  after  the  arrival  of  the  '  Patagonia.' 
And  this  direct  statement  was  supplemented  by 
numberless  interviews.  In  the  hands  of  men  en- 
tirely great,  the  interview  is  mightier  than  the 
sword,  and  no  more  to  be  avoided  than  the  pesti- 
lence which  walketh  in  darkness.  No  paper  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  anything  out  of  any  of  the 
officers,  although  one  enterprising  journal  laid  be- 
fore its  readers  the  obiter  dicta  of  the  chief  steward. 
Several  reporters  succeeded  in  capturing  Mr.  Cable 
J.  Dexter  just  as  that  great  operator  was  checking 
his  trunks  for  Chicago.  At  one  period  in  his 
eventful  career  Mr.  Dexter  had  himself  been  a 
reporter,  and  he  surrendered  himself  to  the  in- 
quisitors without  false  shame. 

'  I'm  in  a  hurry,  boys,'  he  said,  '  and  I  really 
haven't  any  pointers  to  give  you.  Of  course  we 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  13 

couldn't  expect  good  luck  this  trip  ;  we  had  four 
clergymen  aboard — Holy  Joes,  the  sailors  call  'em. 
That's  enough  to  make  a  boat  snap  her  shaft  off 
short.  At  first  I  thought  maybe  the  actors  and 
actresses  on  board  would  be  a  set-off,  but  it  didn't 
work.  The  pirate  just  broke  me.  Oh  no  :  he 
didn't  go  through  me  like  a  road-agent,  but  it  was 
just  as  bad.  I'd  been  sitting  with  mean  cards  all 
the  afternoon,  and  just  as  the  pirate  fired  at  us  I 
filled  a  full  hand — and  it  was  a  jackpot  too — but 
when  the  pirate  opened,  the  game  closed.  What's 
worse,  I  had  big  money  up  on  the  run,  and  that 
damned  pirate  spoiled  that  too.  I  wish  he'd  quit 
the  sea  and  buck  against  the  market  in  breadstuffs 
— I'd  make  it  hot  for  him  ! ' 

While  certain  of  the  passengers  were  wary  and 
fought  shy  of  the  reporters,  none  of  the  gentlemen 
of  the  press  found  any  difficulty  in  gaining  ad- 
mission to  the  presence  of  Miss  Daisy  Fostelle, 
who  had  taken  her  usual  spacious  apartments  at 
the  Apollo  Hotel.  When  they  sent  up  their  cards 
with  a  request  for  an  interview,  Mr.  Kilburn,  Miss 
Fostelle's  enterprising  manager,  descended  to  the 
office  to  meet  them,  greeted  them  most  affection- 
ately, and  introduced  them  at  once  with  effusive 
cordiality. 

'  I'm  so  very  glad  to  be  back  again  in  America,' 
said  Miss  Daisy  Fostelle,  '  though  perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  say  that,  for  I  had  such  a  success  in  England. 
I  played  nearly  six  weeks  at  the  Royal  Frivolity 
theatre,  Of  course  at  first  they  did  not  quite 


14  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

understand  me — my  style  was  so  original,  they 
said — so  American,  you  know — and  they  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  make  of  it.  But  I  soon 
became  a  great  favourite.  They  liked  my  play  too  ; 
it's  the  one  I  am  to  appear  in  here  next  Monday. 
It's  called  "  A  Pretty  Girl."  Oh,  thank  you  !  It's 
so  nice  of  you  to  say  so.  I  had  an  offer  to  play  in 
Paris  at  the  Folies  Fantastiques  theatre  —  that's  the 
best  comedy  theatre  in  Paris,  you  know — and  they 
would  have  translated  my  play  into  French,  but  I 
was  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  dear  old  New  York. 
Yes,  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  very  kind  indeed. 
He  came  three  times  to  see  me.  Oh  dear,  no- 
I'm  not  going  to  be  married — why,  I'm  not  even 
engaged  !  I  don't  see  who  could  start  such  absurd 
rumours.  You  know  I  am  wedded  to  my  art.  No, 
I  didn't  see  the  pirate  at  all,  and  I  assure  you  I 
should  not  care  to  play  the  leading  part  in  the  "The 
Pirate's  Bride."  I  should  have  hated  to  have  been 
robbed  of  my  trunks,  for  I  have  brought  such 
lovely  clothes.  There  is  one  dress  made  for  the 
Empress  of  Austria  ;  oh,  it's  beautiful !  I  shall 
wear  "it  on  Monday  night' 

Two  or  three  of  the  chiefs  of  the  dynamite 
faction  of  the  Social  Anarchists  threw  themselves 
in  the  way  of  the  inquiring  reporters,  but  no  de- 
finite information  could  be  extracted  from  them, 
although  they  were  full  of  vague  hints  and  mys- 
terious innuendoes,  and  let  fall  dark  intimations 
that  they  knew  all  about  the  matter.  None  of  the 
New  York  papers  made  any  comment  on  their 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  15 

doubtful  sayings,  but  the  interviews  with  them  were 
telegraphed  to  England,  and  called  forth  indignant 
leaders  from  the  London  journals. 

The  editorials  of  the  morning  papers  in  New 
York  were  devoted  chiefly  to  a  statement  of  the 
strangeness  of  the  robbery.  Piracy  on  the  high 
seas  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  within  a  few 
hours'  sail  of  the  United  States,  seemed  like  an 
anachronism.  One  paper,  referring  to  the  sinking 
of  the  Government  despatch-boat,  and  the  fraudu- 
lent bankruptcy,  '  preceding  a  piracy  as  bold  as 
any  in  the  records  of  the  Spanish  Main/  called 
its  able  editorial  'A  Carnival  of  Carelessness 
and  Crime.'  It  suggested  the  immediate  forma- 
tion of  an  International  League  for  the  Patrol 
of  the  Ocean.  This  suggestion  was  accom- 
panied by  a  map,  and  by  a  statistical  table  of 
the  water  traffic  between  Great  Britain  and  the 
United  States.  Another  paper  had  a  special 
despatch  from  Washington  declaring  that  the 
Secretary  of  the  Navy  would  wait  for  further 
details  before  sending  out  the  available  vessel  of 
the  North  Atlantic  Squadron.  A  third  paper 
came  out  with  a  quadruple  sheet  devoted  to  cor- 
poration advertising,  and  a  series  of  brief  bio- 
graphies of  the  eminent  pirates  of  the  past,  with 
outline  portraits  of  Captain  Kidd,  as  he  sailed,  and 
of  Lafitte,  the  pirate  of  the  Gulf.  A  stalwart 
organ  remarked  that  while  pirates  were  at  large, 
ocean  travelling  could  no  longer  be  considered  safe, 
and  added  that  no  pirate  would  have  dared  to 


1 6  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

show  his  face  if  the  spirited  foreign  policy  of 
Senator  Doolittle  had  been  followed  up.  This 
allowed  an  Independent  afternoon  paper  to  retort 
that  as  Senator  Doolittle  had  sent  a  substitute  to 
the  war,  it  might  be  doubted  whether  even  a  one- 
armed  pirate  with  the  gout  would  be  afraid  to  meet 
him  in  single  combat. 

But  the  afternoon  papers  contained  news  of 
more  importance  than  this  humorous  expression 
of  Independent  opinion.  They  contained  the 
astounding  declaration  that  the  ioo,ooo/  in  specie 
which  the  pirate  had  taken  from  the  'Patagonia' 
had  been  returned,  and  was  now  in  the  possession 
of  the  agents  of  the  line. 

In  company  with  the  captain,  the  chief  officer, 
and  the  third  officer,  the  purser  of  the  '  Patagonia ' 
had  gone  early  in  the  morning  to  the  office  of  the 
agents  of  the  line  in  Bowling  Green.  Here  each 
of  the  officers  told  his  story,  which  was  taken  down 
by  a  stenographer.  As  the  purser  was  about  to 
return  to  the  dock,  one  of  the  clerks  said,  '  We 
have  received  those  cases  for  you.' 

'  What  cases  ? '  asked  the  purser. 

'  The  cases  from  Halifax,'  answered  the  clerk. 

'  But  I  am  not  expecting  any  cases  from 
Halifax,'  was  the  purser's  hasty  reply. 

'  There  are  two  cases  here  for  you,  anyhow,' 
said  the  clerk.  '  They  are  addressed  to  you,  they 
arrived  this  morning,  and  they  are  very  heavy — as 
though  they  had  machinery  in  them.' 

The  thought  flashed  into  several  minds  at  once 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  \; 

that  these  cases  might  contain  infernal  machines 
intended  to  destroy  the  office  of  the  line,  the 
records  of  the  company,  and  the  chief  witnesses 
against  the  pirate.  The  police  were  notified,  and 
in  their  presence  the  cases  were  opened  with  the 
greatest  circumspection.  The  cases  were  found  to 
be  almost  empty,  except  in  one  corner  of  each  case, 
where  there  was  a  strong  compartment  With 
redoubled  care  these  compartments  were  forced 
open.  They  contained  the  ioo,ooo/  in  specie,  in 
the  original  tightly  sealed,  iron-strapped,  hard-wood 
boxes,  as  addressed  in  England  to  the  American 
consignees,  whose  initials  and  numbers  they  bore. 

The  police  of  Halifax  were  at  once  telegraphed 
to  ;  but  the  only  information  they  could  give  was 
that  the  express  charges  had  been  paid  by  an  un- 
known woman,  who  had  requested  that  the  cases 
be  sent  for.  The  police  of  New  York  now  became 
as  mysterious  as  the  delegates  of  the  Dynamite 
faction  had  been  the  day  before.  They  consulted 
together,  and  allowed  it  to  be  believed  that  they 
had  a  clue.  And  there  the  matter  rested. 

The  arrival  of  the  next  steamer  was  now 
awaited  anxiously,  to  see  whether  it  had  been 
stopped  also,  or  if  it  had  at  least  seen  any  sign  of 
the  pirate.  Within  forty-eight  hours  after  the  un- 
expected and  inexplicable  recovery  of  the  gold, 
five  ocean  steamers  came  into  port.  They  were 
boarded  in  the  lower  bay  by  authorised  reporters, 
but  neither  officers  nor  passengers  had  any  infor- 
mation to  give.  They  had  not  seen  the  pirate,  nor 

C 


1 8  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

heard  of  him.  Nor  has  the  '  Dare-Devil '  ever  been 
seen  again  as  she  appeared  to  the  anxious  eyes  ot 
the  passengers  on  the  '  Patagonia.'  Nor  have  any 
more  orders,  written  on  a  type-writer  and  signed 
by  Lafitte,  been  served  on  any  steamer  laden  with 
specie. 

The  sudden  restoration  of  the  gold  taken  from 
the  '  Patagonia,'  while  it  increased  the  peculiar 
mystery  of  the  affair,  materially  lessened  the 
interest  of  those  whose  duty  it  was  to  hunt  down 
the  pirate.  A  search  for  the  specie  would  have 
been  practical,  but  the  discovery  of  a  pirate  mag- 
nanimous enough  to  give  up  ioo,ooo/.  had  only  a 
speculative  interest.  At  best  it  was  little  more 
than  the  solving  of  a  riddle — Who  was  the  pirate  ? 
It  was  but  the  answering  of  a  conundrum — Why 
had  he  taken  the  money  if  he  meant  to  return 
it  ?  Men  in  the  thick  of  business  have  no  time  to 
waste  in  guessing  enigmas.  Viewed  as  a  whole, 
the  robbery  of  the  '  Patagonia,'  only  to  return  the 
gold,  appeared  purposeless.  It  assumed  almost  the 
form  of  a  practical  joke.  To  some  it  seemed  even 
like  a  freak  of  insanity.  Many  vain  efforts  were 
made  to  penetrate  the  mystery,  to  guess  at  the 
pirate,  and  to  impute  a  motive  for  his  rash  and 
reckless  act ;  but  in  a  few  days  the  interest  of  the 
public  began  to  wane,  and  just  then  it  was  suddenly 
diverted  to  another  sensation,  of  more  direct  and 
personal  importance  to  every  inhabitant  of  the 
Eastern  coast.  A  series  of  sharp  shocks  was  felt 
by  everybody  on  three  distinct  occasions.  An 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  19 

earthquake  was  a  novel  experience  to  most  New- 
Yorkers,  and  the  reporters  turned  their  attention 
at  once  to  picturesque  descriptions  of  effects  of  the 
visitation,  and  to  interviews  with  those  who  had 
dwelt  long  in  volcanic  lands.  So  it  came  to  pass 
that  people  soon  ceased  to  puzzle  themselves 
further  about  the  secret  of  the  sea. 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 


II. 

A  STERN   CHASE. 

THERE  was  one  person,  however,  who  did  not 
allow  his  attention  to  be  diverted  from  the  strange 
adventure  of  the  'Patagonia'  by  any  gossip  about 
an  earthquake.  This  person  was  Mr.  Robert 
White.  He  was  a  good-looking  and  keen-witted 
young  American  of  thirty,  with  straight  features 
and  curly  hair.  The  son  of  a  clergyman  established 
over  an  Episcopalian  church  in  an.  inland  city,  he 
had  been  graduated  at  a  fresh-water  college  ;  but 
he  had  always  had  a  thirst  for  salt-water,  and  when 
he  came  to  New  York  to  the  Law  School  of  Co- 
lumbia College,  he  took  to  the  water  with  joy.  He 
rowed  in  the  Law  School  boat  at  the  college 
regatta  on  the  Harlem  in  the  spring.  He  did  his 
duty  all  summer  on  the  yacht  of  a  friend  who  was 
fond  of  sailing  Corinthian  races.  He  learned 
navigation,  and  at  the  school  he  even  gave  special 
study  to  maritime  law.  Just  as  he  was  admitted 
to  the  bar,  his  father  died,  leaving  his  little  pro- 
perty unfortunately  involved.  Robert  White  saw 
at  once  not  only  that  he  could  no  longer  hope  for 
the  assistance  he  would  need  while  he  was  working 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  21 

and  waiting  at  the  bar,  but  also  that  he  must  bear 
part,  at  least,  of  the  burden  of  supporting  his  mother 
and  his  sister.  He  did  not  hesitate.  He  had  edited 
one  of  the  two  warring  college  papers  ;  and  after  he 
came  to  New  York  he  had  written  a  few  letters  for 
the  chief  daily  of  his  native  town.  His  pen  was 
broken  to  service,  and  he  went  at  once  to  the 
editor  of  the  '  Gotham  Gazette,'  whom  he  had  met 
on  Joshua  Hoffman's  yacht,  .and  asked  for  work- 
The  editor  told  the  city  editor  to  do  what  he  could 
for  him.  The  city  editor  sent  him  to  interview  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  New  England— a 
prize-fighter,  then  on  his  first  visit  to  New  York. 
The  next  day  his  assignment  sent  him  down  to 
Castle  Garden  to  sift  the  sensational  stories  of  a  lot 
of  Russian  emigrants.  This  was  not  congenial 
work  ;  but  within  a  few  weeks  there  was  a  regatta, 
and  it  fell  to  him  to  write  it  up.  Here  was  his 
chance.  The  next  morning  the  'Gotham  Gazette' 
contained  the  best  account  of  a  yacht  race,  the 
most  precise  and  the  most  picturesque,  which  had 
been  printed  for  many  a  month.  It  made  a  hit, 
as  even  the  work  of  the  anonymous  reporter  may 
do  if  it  is  done  with  heart  and  head.  It  assured 
his  position  on  the  '  Gotham  Gazette,'  which  sent 
him  to  cruise  with  the  yacht  squadron,  to  report 
the  naval  review  at  Newport  before  the  President  of 
the  United  States,  and  to  give  a  description  of  the 
movements  of  the  United  States  Fish  Commission-. 
To  these  letters  his  initials  were  attached.  One  of 
them,  a  vigorous  account  of  the  showy  experiments 


22  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

of  a  torpedo-boat,  attracted  the  notice  of  a  sharp- 
eyed  editor  of  one  of  the  great  magazines,  and  he 
wrote,  asking  if  Mr.  Robert  White  would  care  to 
contribute  three  or  four  articles  on  the  New  Eng- 
land coast,  to  be  called,  '  All  Along  Shore,'  and  to 
be  illustrated  in  the  highest  style  of  American 
wood-engraving.  To  this  pleasant  task  Mr.  Robert 
White  devoted  the  end  of  summer.  When  he  re- 
turned to  town  the  editor  of  the  '  Gotham  Gazette  ' 
asked  him  if  he  would  like  '  to  write  brevier,  or,  in 
other  words,  to  join  the  editorial  staff.  At  the 
time  when  the  '  Patagonia '  met  the  pirate  Mr. 
Robert  White  had  been  writing  naval,  legal,  and 
social  editorials  for  several  years  ;  his  magazine 
articles  had  appeared  at  last,  they  had  been  followed 
by  others,  and  they  had  been  gathered  into  a  hand- 
some book,  which  had  been  well  reviewed  in  the 
leading  English  weeklies.  A  series  of  sketches  of 
American  out-door  sports,  signed  '  Poor  Bob  White,' 
had  been  very  successful.  His  income  was  not 
large,  but  it  was  ample  for  his  needs,  since  his 
mother  had  died  and  his  sister  had  married.  His 
position  was  assured  as  one  of  the  cleverest  and 
most  competent  of  the  young  men  who  drive  the 
double  team,  journalism  and  literature.  He  had 
begun  both  to  lay  money  by  and  to  collect  notes 
for  a  real  book,  not  a  mere  collection  of  magazine 
papers  :  this  was  the  '  Story  of  a  Ship,'  a  history 
of  boats  from  the  dug-out  of  the  lake-dweller  to 
the  latest  device  in  submerged  torpedo  launches. 
And  he  had  done  one  thing  more  of  greater  im- 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  23 

portance  to  himself  than  any  of  these — he  had 
fallen  in  love. 

When  the  meeting  took  place  between  the '  Pata- 
gonia '  and  the  '  Dare-Devil,'  Mr.  Robert  White 
was  at  his  native  town  settling  his  father's  estate, 
and  he  did  not  return  to  New  York  until  after  the 
'  Patagonia '  had  sailed  again.  He  had  read  all  the 
newspaper  accounts  and  interviews  with  great 
interest.  The  first  day  after  his  return  he  went  to 
see  Mr.  Eliphalet  Duncan,  who  had  been  his  class- 
mate at  the  law  school.  The  offices  of  Duncan 
and  Sutton,  attorneys  and  counsellors  at  law,  were 
in  the  Bowdoin  Building,  No.  76  Broadway,  next 
to  those  of  Hitchcock  and  Van  Rensselaer.  As 
White  went  upstairs  he  passed  a  small  door  on 
which  was  painted  '  Sargent  and  Co.,  Stock  De- 
liveries,' and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb,  for  it 
was  Miss  Dorothy  Sargent,  the  daughter  of  the 
great  speculator,  that  he  was  in  love  with. 

'  Why,  Bob,  how  are  you  ? '  said  Mr.  Eliphalet 
Duncan,  as  his  friend  took  a  seat  beside  him.  '  I 
haven't  seen  you  since  the  last  Judge-and-Jury 
dinner.' 

The  Judge-and-Jury  was  a  little  club  to  which 
both  had  belonged  at  the  law  school,  and  which 
now  survived  only  in  an  annual  dinner. 

'  I'm  all  right,  'Liph  ;  and  you  are  too,  judging 
by  your  looks.  A  hasty  run  over  to  Scotland  and 
back  seems  to  suit  you.  I  saw  you  came  back  by 
the  "  Patagonia,"  and  that's  why  I've  come  in  to- 
day.' 


24  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

1  Your  intention  seems  to  be  complimentary, 
but  your  logic  is  incoherent,'  remarked  the  lawyer. 

White  laughed,  and  answered  :  '  I  will  make 
myself  clear  to  the  dullest  comprehension.' 

'  Of  course,'  interrupted  his  friend. 

'  You  know  my  fondness  for  solving  problems. 
I  always  delighted  in  algebra  at  school,  and  I 
worked  out  the  pons  for  myself.  Now  this  un- 
necessary taking  and  giving  back  of  the  gold  on 
the  "  Patagonia  "  strikes  me  as  a  puzzle  as  interest- 
ing as  a  man  can  find  in  a  week  of  Sundays.' 

'  I  doubt  if  you  would  have  found  it  quite  as 
interesting  if  you  had  lost  a  day  by  it/  said  Dun- 
can, dryly. 

'I  expect  to  give  more  than  one  day  to  it,' 
answered  White.  '  In  fact,  I  want  to  stick  to  the 
case  until  I  puzzle  out  the  secret.' 

'  The  detectives  say  they  have  a  clue.' 

'The  reporter  is  the  real  detective  nowadays, 
and  as  he  is  wont  to  tell  all  he  knows,  and  as  he 
has  said  nothing,  there  is,  I  take  it,  nothing  known, 
and  that  leaves  everything  to  be  found  out.' 

'  And  you  are  going  to  try  and  to  out  every- 
thing ? ' 

'  And  I  am  going  to  try  to  find  out  everything 
— with  your  help.' 

'  For  publication  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  "  ? ' 
asked  the  lawyer. 

'  For  my  own  satisfaction  first,'  answered  the 
journalist — '  for  the  sheer  enjoyment  of  getting  at 
a  mystery ;  but,  of  course,  in  the  end,  if  I  find  I 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  25 

have  a  story  to  tell,  I  shall  tell  it.  And  it  seems 
to  me  that  it  ought  not  to  be  very  hard  to  track  the 
pirate  to  his  lair.' 

'  I  doubt  if  I  can  give  you  much  help,  but  of 
course  you  are  welcome  to  all  I  know.' 

'  The  court  is  with  you,'  said  White. 

'  I  was  in  the  main  saloon,  playing  chess  with 
Judge  Gillespie  as  well  as  I  could,  while  a  young 
lady  was  at  the  piano  singing  "  When  the  Sea  gives 
up  its  Dead."  Just  as  the  judge  mated  me,  we 
heard  a  shot.  Going  on  deck,  we  saw  the  pirate, 
barely  a  mile  away.  I  wondered  why  the  shot  had 
been  fired,  and  it  was  not  until  I  saw  the  black 
flag  that  I  was  willing  to  believe  that  the  strange 
ship  was  a  corsair.  Why,  I'd  just  as  soon  expected 
to  cruise  in  the  "  Flying  Dutchman  "  as  to  see  a 
pirate— except,  of  course,  in  Penzance.' 

'  What  was  the  pirate  like  ?  ' 

'  She  was  a  schooner-rigged  steamer  of  perhaps 
three  hundred  tons  burden,  and  she  was  a  little 
more  than  a  hundred  feet  long.  She  had  two 
smoke-stacks,  painted  black  with  a  red  band. 
She  rode  very  high  out  of  the  water,  as  though  her 
bulwarks  had  been  added  to.' 

'  From  the  newspaper  reports  I  infer  that  she 
was  neither  American  nor  English  in  build,'  said 
White. 

'  There  you  are  wrong,  I  think,'  Duncan  de- 
clared. '  In  spite  of  a  lateen-sail  and  other  details, 
I  am  sure  that  the  pirate  was  launched  in  American 
waters.' 


26  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

*  But  what  motive  could  induce  an  American 
yachtsman  to  turn  pirate,  and  then  to  give  up  the 
proceeds  of  his  crime  ? '  asked  White.  '  Piracy  on 
the  high  seas  is  rather  a  violent  practical  joke.' 

'  As  to  motives  I  can  say  nothing  ;  I  give  you 
my  opinion  as  to  the  facts  only.  In  my  belief  the 
pirate  was  built  in  America.  What  is  more,  I 
doubt  if  she  was  as  fast  as  the  "  Patagonia,"  and  I 
think  that  we  could  have  run  away  with  little  risk.' 

<\Vhy?' 

'  Because  we  kept  gaining  on  her  as  soon  as  we 
took  to  our  heels.' 

'  But  a  single  shot  from  the  long  gun  amid- 
ships would  have  sunk  you.' 

'  Of  course,'  said  Eliphalet  Duncan,  offering  a 
cigar  to  his  friend.  '  I  never  heard  of  a  Quaker 
turning  pirate,  but  I  think  that  was  a  Quaker  gun  ! ' 

'What!'  shouted  White,  in  intense  surprise. 

1  The  gun  fired  across  our  bows  was  aimed 
through  a  port  on  the  main-deck  forward.  The 
long  gun  was  never  fired  at  all,  and  I  don't  believe 
it  could  be  fired.  I  believe  it  was  a  dummy.  And 
that's  what  Judge  Gillespie  thinks  too,  and  you 
know  he  is  a  West-Pointer.' 

'A  Quaker  gun  on  a  pirate!'  said  White, 
thoughtfully.  '  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  ' 

'  Who  ever  heard  of  a  pirate's  writing  his 
messages  on  a  type-writer  ? '  asked  Duncan. 

'  The  presence  of  a  type-writer  on  board  is 
evidence  is  favour  of  your  view  that  the  piratical 
craft  belongs  in  our  own  waters.  The  pirate  of  the 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  27 

old  school  might  sign  his  own  name  with  his  own 
blood,  but  he  had  no  use  for  a  type-writer.' 

'  The  making  of  a  Quaker  gun,'  said  Duncan, 
'  and  the  use  of  a  type- writer,  both  suggest  Yankee 
gumption.  If  you  want  to  find  the  pirate,  you 
need  not  cross  the  ocean.  I  do  not  know  where 
the  "  Dare-Devil  "  went  after  leaving  Halifax,  but 
I  feel  sure  that  the  "  Dare-Devil  "  hailed  from  an 
American  port.' 

'  But  I  see  one  of  the  accounts  mentions  that 
the  crew  of  the  gig  which  came  out  to  receive  the 
gold  were  Orientals/  objected  White. 

'  That's  true,'  answered  Duncan  ;  '  the  third 
officer  told  me  that  they  were  Lascars,  all  but  the 
man  who  sat  in  the  stern-sheets.' 

'  And  what  was  he  ? ' 

'As  well  as  the  third  officer  could  judge,  he  was 
a  white  man,  rather  portly,  with  bright  eyes,  a 
large  nose,  and  a  long  black  moustache.  Apparently 
this  man's  skin  was  stained,  for  he  was  as  dark  as 
the  Lascars,  and  he  wore  a  false  beard.  In  spite 
of  this  disguise,  he  impressed  the  third  officer  as  a 
man  of  strong  will  and  quick  determination.' 

'  Proper  piratical  qualities.' 

'  Of  course,'  assented  Duncan. 

'  Do  you  think  this  man  with  the  stained  face, 
the  long  moustache,  and  the  false  beard  was  the 
pirate  chief,  the  new  Lafitte  ? '  asked  White. 

'  That  was  my  impression,'  answered  Duncaju 
*  It  seems  to  me  very  probable  that  the  head  which 


28  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

had  planned  the  robbery  should  personally  see  to 
the  delivery  of  the  treasure.' 

'  That  brings  up  again  the  chief  puzzle — why 
did  he  take  the  gold  if  he  meant  to  give  it  up,  and 
why  did  he  give  it  up  after  running  the  risk  of 
disgrace  and  death  to  get  it?  This  is  the  main 
question.  It  is  more  important  to  get  an  answer 
to  that  than  to  identify  the  man  or  the  ship,  or 
rather  to  find  a  motive  of  this  apparently  motive- 
less act  will  be  to  have  gone  far  toward  the  dis- 
covery of  the  man  himself.' 

'As  for  motives,'  said  Duncan,  'there  are  a 
plenty.' 

'  Such  as ? ' 

'  I  mean  that  there  are  possible  explanations  in 
plenty  of  these  proceedings.  Perhaps  the  man  was 
mad  :  there  is  a  simple  explanation.' 

'  A  little  too  simple,  I  fear  :  marine  kleptomania 
is  not  an  accepted  plea  as  yet,'  said  White. 

'A  madman  may  have  great  cunning  and  per- 
sistence,' urged  Duncan.  '  Or  the  man  may  have 
been  sane  but  fickle,  and  after  the  robbery  he 
quietly  changed  his  mind.' 

'  That  is  rather  a  strain  on  our  credulity,  isn't 
it  ?  '  queried  White. 

'  It  is  improbable,  but  it  may  be  the  fact,  for  all 
that.  Then,  again,  perhaps  the  mate  of  the  "  Dare- 
Devil  "  experienced  a  change  of  heart,  and  repented 
of  his  piracies,  and  converted  the  rest  of  the  crew, 
and  got  them  to  mutiny,  whereupon  they  made  Mr. 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  29 

Lafitte  walk  the  plank,  after  which  they  returned 
the  gold,  and  then  they  scuttled  the  ship.' 

White  smiled,  and  said,  '  I  see  Lascars  giving 
up  gold  and  scuttling  a  ship.' 

'  It  would  be  a  pity  to  think  that  so  pretty  a 
yacht  had  been  sent  to  the  bottom.' 

'  So  you  think  the  pirate  was  a  yacht  ? ' 

Duncan  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  an- 
swered :  '  What  else  could  she  be  ?  Plainly 
enough  she  was  not  a  Government  gun-boat,  and 
as  plainly  she  was  not  a  boat  built  for  freight  or 
passengers ;  she  had  no  hold  for  the  one,  and  no 
accommodation  for  the  others.  What  could  she  be 
but  a  pleasure-boat  ? ' 

'  But  a  yacht  has  not  high  bulwarks  or  two 
smoke-stacks,'  objected  White. 

'  Of  course  there  had  been  an  attempt  to  dis- 
guise her.  I  think  the  bulwarks  were  part  of  the 
disguise  ;  and  perhaps  the  second  smoke-stack  was 
too,  although  that  had  not  struck  me  before.' 

'  Then,'  said  White, '  in  your  opinion,  the  "  Dare- 
Devil  "  is  an  American  steam-yacht  of  perhaps 
three  hundred  tons,  and  about  a  hundred  feet 
long  ? ' 

'  It  is  unprofessional  to  give  an  opinion  without 
a  retainer,'  answered  the  lawyer,  smiling,  '  but  you 
have  expressed  my  private  views  with  precision 
and  point' 

'  The  witness  may  stand  down,'  said  the  jour- 
nalist, rising.  '  Having  inserted  the  corkscrew  of 
interrogation,  and  extracted  the  pure  wine  of  truth, 


30  A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

I  have  no  further  use  for  you.  Now  I  must  tear 
myself  away.' 

'  Come  in  and  dine  with  us  quietly  one  night 
next  week.  Mrs.  Duncan  will  be  glad  to  see  you.' 

'  I'd  like  to  do  it,  but  I  have  no  time.  You  see, 
I  have  been  away  for  a  fortnight,  and  I'm  in  arrears 
with  my  work.' 

'  Make  it  Tuesday,  and  you  will  meet  Miss 
Sargent/  urged  Duncan. 

'  Tuesday  ?  '  said  White,  as  his  pulse  quickened. 
'  I  think,  perhaps,  I  could  manage  it  on  Tuesday.' 

'  Then  we  shall  expect  you  at  half-past  six. 
There'll  only  be  four  of  us.  You  know  Miss 
Sargent,  I  think.' 

'  Oh  yes,  I  know  her,'  answered  White,  as 
lightly  as  he  could. 

'  A  charming  girl — isn't  she  ? '  asked  Duncan. 

'  She  is,  indeed,'  said  White,  with  perhaps  more 
warmth  than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

'  She  is  a  great  friend  of  my  wife's,'  said  Duncan 
— and  White  envied  Mrs.  Duncan — '  and  she's 
always  at'  our  house' — and  then  White  envied 
Duncan.  To  hear  her  name  was  a  delight,  and  to 
talk  about  her  was  a  delicious  torture.  After  a 
moment's  silence  he  said, 

'  I  see  her  father's  office  is  just  under  you.' 

'  Oh  yes,  Sam  Sargent  has  his  head-quarters 
here.  I  don't  know  whether  you  like  that  man, 
Bob,  or  not  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  know  him,'  answered  White,  uneasily. 

'  Well,  I  know  him,  and  I  detest  him.     When- 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  31 

ever  I  see  him  and  think  of  his  daughter,  then  I 
know  his  wife  must  have  been  an  angel  from  heaven.' 

'You  are  a  little  rough  on  him,  'Liph,'  said 
White,  deprecatingly. 

'  No,  I  am  not.  She  has  an  air  of  breeding, 
and  she  carries  herself  like  a  lady,  but  her  father  is 
not  a  gentleman — at  least — you  know  what  I  mean. 
The  man  is  coarse-grained,  in  spite  of  all  his 
smartness  and  brilliancy.  You  have  only  to  look 
in  his  face  to  see  that.  He  took  up  the  right  trade 
when  he  turned  gambler.' 

'  Gambler  ? ' 

'  Of  course.  Stock  speculator,  if  you  like  that 
term  better.  Speculating  in  stocks  is  not  business  ; 
it  is  gambling.  The  money  made  in  speculating  is 
not  business  earnings,  whatever  it  may  pretend  to 
be  ;  it  is  winnings,  no  more  and  no  less.  I  don't 
object  to  a  game  of  poker  now  and  then  myself, 
but  when  I  win  thirty  or  forty  dollars  I  don't  put 
the  sum  down  in  my  books  as  earnings.  Now  it  is 
men  like  Sam  Sargent  who  have  confused  and 
corrupted  the  public  mind  in  regard  to  this  thing. 
They  are  gamblers,  but  they  masquerade  in  the 
honourable  garb  of  business  men.  And  he  has  the 
impudence  to  want  to  go  into  politics.' 

'  He  is  no  worse  than  the  rest,'  ventured  White 
apologetically. 

1  Of  course,'  retorted  Duncan,  promptly  ;  '  and 
he's  no  better.  And  he'll  come  to  grief,  like  the 
rest  of  them.  Only  a  few  days  ago  he  had  a  very 
tight  squeeze,  so  Mat  Hitchcock  tells  me.' 


32  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

'How  so?' 

'He  was  caught  in  ttie  Transcontinental  Tele- 
graph corner,  and  he  would  have  lost  all  he  had 
left,  and  more  too,  if  this  brief  panic  had  not  come 
to  his  rescue,  and  knocked  the  bottom  out  of  the 
market.  It  was  this  fraudulent  bankruptcy  and  the 
failures  it  caused  which  saved  Sam  Sargent.' 

'You  do  not  like  him  ?'  said  White,  smiling. 

'  But  I  like  his  daughter,'  answered  Duncan. 

'  So  do  I,'  replied  White  as  cheerfully  as  he  could. 

'  Of  course,'  said  Duncan  ;  '  and  we  shall  expect 
you  on  Tuesday.' 

'  You  may  rely  on  me ; '  and  White  shook 
hands  with  Eliphalet  Duncan  and  withdrew.  As 
he  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  opposite  to  the 
office  of  Sargent  and  Co. ,  the  door  opened,  and  a 
customer  came  out,  pausing  on  the  threshold  to 
ask, '  When  do  you  expect  Mr.  Sargent  back  ? ' 
White  could  not  help  hearing  the  answer  :  '  He'll 
be  here  in  a  week  or  two.  You  know  he  is  at 
Bermuda,  on  the  "  Rhadamanthus,"  with  old  Joshua 
Hoffman.'  White  knew  that  Joshua  Hoffman  was 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  citizens  of  New 
York — a  man  who  had  made  a  fortune,  which  he 
administered  for  the  public  good  as  though  he  was 
not  the  owner,  but  only  a  trustee  for  the  poor  and 
the  struggling. 

'  If  Sam  Sargent  is  off  on  a  cruise  with  Joshua 
Hoffman,'  thought  the  young  man  who  was  in  love 
with  Sam  Sargent's  daughter,  '  why,  he  can't  be 
quite  as  black  as  'Liph  paints  him.' 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  33 

It  was  on  Friday  that  Robert  White  had  called 
on  Eliphalet  Duncan,  and  he  gave  most  of  Satur- 
day also  to  the  pursuit  of  the  pirate.  He  had  a 
long  talk  with  Judge  Gillespie,  who  confirmed  all 
that  Duncan  had  said.  The  so-called  '  Dare- Devil' 
was  probably  an  American  steam-yacht  of  three 
hundred  tons  or  thereabouts.  Now  there  were  five 
or  six  yachts  on  the  American  register  which  an- 
swered fairly  enough  to  the  description  of  the '  Dare- 
Devil,'  after  making  due  allowances  for  the  efforts 
to  disguise  her.  But  all  of  these — except  two — 
were  easily  accounted  for,  and  must  be  unhesitat- 
ingly ruled  out,  as  they  were  not  in  commission. 
Of  the  two  American  steam-yachts  approximately 
like  the  '  Dare-Devil,'  one,  the  '  Pretty  Polly,'  be- 
longed to  a  wealthy  clergyman,  and  was  then  in  the 
Mediterranean,  cruising  along  the  Holy  Land  with 
a  full  ship's  company  of  missionaries ;  the  other 
was  at  Bermuda — it  was  the  '  Rhadamanthus,'  and 
it  belonged  to  the  good  Joshua  Hoffman. 

When,  by  a  process  of  exhaustion,  as  the  logi- 
cians call  it,  Mr.  Robert  White  had  arrived  at  this 
useless  result,  it  was  late  on  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  he  looked  back  along  the  week,  and  he  felt 
that  it  had  been  well-nigh  wasted.  He  had  not 
made  any  progress  toward  the  solution  of  the 
problem  of  the  piracy  against  the  '  Patagonia,'  and 
be  had  not  seen  Miss  Dorothy  Sargent. 


34  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 


III. 

TAKING  SOUNDINGS. 

ROBERT  WHITE  had  met  Miss  Dorothy  Sargent 
for  the  first  time  late  in  the  preceding  fall.  Mrs. 
Eliphalet  Duncan,  who  was  always  getting  up 
something  new,  got  up  a  riding  party  to  go  to- 
gether to  Yonkers  for  a  light  dinner,  and  to  ride 
back  to  the  city  by  the  light  of  the  autumn  moon. 
As  the  merry  cavalcade  set  forth  Mrs.  Duncan 
introduced  Mr.  White  to  Miss  Sargent,  by  whose 
air  of  distinction,  as  she  sat  firmly  on  a  high-spirited 
bay  mare,  he  had  been  attracted  already.  Her 
manner,  like  her  simple  habit,  which  fitted  her 
slight  figure  to  perfection,  was  quiet  and  unobtru- 
sive ;  and  she  had  in  abundance  that  indefinable 
but  unmistakable  quality  called  style.  Her  light 
golden  hair  was  tied  in  a  neat  knot  under  her  tall 
hat,  and  a  semicircle  of  veil  half  hid  her  face,  al- 
though a  bright  glance  from  her  frank  blue  eyes 
passed  without  difficulty  through  the  filmy  barrier 
as  Mrs.  Duncan  presented  White  to  her.  This 
glance,  the  merry  smile  which  occasioned  it,  the 
ray  of  the  afternoon  sun  as  it  made  molten  the 
twisted  gold  of  her  hair,  the  gentle  dignity  of  her 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  35 

attitude — these  united  in  a  picture  which  printed 
itself  indelibly  in  White's  memory. 

Before  they  had  passed  the  reservoir  in  Central 
Park  White  had  discovered  that  Miss  Sargent 
rode  well,  like  one  with  a  strong  natural  gift  of 
horsemanship,  well  developed  by  an  intelligent 
master.  As  they  cantered  side  by  side  through  the 
russet  bowers  and  leaf-strewn  lanes  of  the  park,  he 
could  not  but  notice  how  perfectly  her  exquisite 
American  grace  seemed  to  harmonise  with  the  soft 
and  delicate  hues  of  the  fading  landscape,  as  the 
glory  of  the  American  autumn  was  fast  departing. 
He  marked  how  her  colour  rose  with  the  Ama- 
zonian enjoyment,  with  the  honest  delight  of  the 
genuine  horsewoman,  and  he  wondered  how  she 
came  by  her  beauty.  He  was  vaguely  familiar 
with  the  features  of  her  father,  one  of  the  best- 
known  men  about  town,  and  he  knew  that  Sam 
Sargent  was  an  operator  in  stocks  and  a  fellow  of 
bluff  joviality,  hail-fellow-well-met  with  most  men, 
getting  the  utmost  possible  sensual  enjoyment  out 
of  life,  and  having  no  sympathy  at  all  with  plain 
living  and  high  thinking. 

There  was  no  lack  of  candidates  for  the  place 
by  Miss  Sargent's  side  as  the  little  party  rode 
forth,  or  as  it  rode  back  again  by  the  full  light  of  a 
glorious  moon  ;  but  White  set  his  wits  to  work, 
and  managed  to  monopolise  her  company  the 
whole  of  the  long  blissful  afternoon  and  the  happy, 
evening — all  too  short.  Before  they  reached  the 
park  on  their  return  he  was  on  the  verge  of 


36  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

wishing  that  her  lively  mare  would  try  to  run  away 
or  to  throw  her,  or  to  do  anything  that  would  give 
him  a  chance  to  show  his  devotion.  When  at  last 
he  had  helped  her  to  dismount  and  had  said  good 
night,  he  felt  lifted  out  of  himself,  and  as  though 
intoxicated  by  some  mysterious  but  delicious  elixir. 
He  was  in  love  ;  and  the  thought  of  his  own  un- 
worthiness  brought  him  back  to  earth,  and  kept 
him  awake  a  good  part  of  the  night. 

As  it  began,  so  it  went  on  all  winter.  White 
discovered  where  she  went  to  church,  and  he 
walked  home  with  her  on  Thanksgiving  morning, 
learning  that  her  father  rarely  ventured  within  the 
sacred  edifice  except  when  some  famous  pulpit 
orator  came  to  preach  a  charity  sermon.  On 
Christmas  Day  he  sat  in  a  pew  where  he  might 
gaze  his  fill  upon  her,  and  his  heart  overflowed 
with  peace  and  good-will.  Mrs.  Duncan — just 
before  she  made  her  hurried  trip  to  Europe— asked 
a  little  party  to  see  the  old  year  out  and  the  new 
year  in,  and  as  White  kept  as  close  as  he  could  to 
Dorothy  the  new  year  began  for  him  with  joy  and 
gladness.  Mrs.  Duncan's  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Sutton,' 
kept  Twelfth  Night  with  due  celebration  of  the 
ancient  rites  of  that  honourable  feast.  Chance 
crowned  White  king,  and  of  course  he  chose 
Dorothy  for  his  queen.  He  noticed  that  her  face 
flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  took  her  by  the  hand. 
But  before  the  evening  was  over  he  began  to 
wonder  how  he  had  displeased  her,  for  of  course 
he  could  not  think  her  capricious.  When  next 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  37 

they  met  she  was  cold  toward  him,  and  he  sus- 
pected she  had  avoided  him.  On  St.  Valentine's 
Day  he  mustered  up  courage  and  sent  her  a  tall 
screen  of  growing  ivy,  in  the  centre  of  which 
clustered  a  bunch  of  uncut  Jacqueminot  roses  in 
the  shape  of  a  heart.  For  this  she  thanked  him  in 
a  clever  little  note,  as  distant  as  it  was  kindly.  He 
wondered  whether  she  guessed  that  he  loved  her, 
and  sought  to  discourage  him. 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  between  them  when 
they  sat  opposite  to  each  other  at  one  of  those  ex- 
quisite little  dinners  for  four  which  Mrs.  Duncan 
was  famous  for.  There  was  a  dim,  religious  light 
in  the  Duncans'  dining-room  befitting  the  mystic 
rites  of  gastronomy.  As  White  looked  up  and 
caught  Dorothy's  eye  he  wondered  whether  the 
faint  flush  which  spread  over  cheek  and  throat  in 
such  becoming  fashion  was  really  a  blush,  or 
whether  it  was  due  only  to  the  red  silk  shades  on 
the  tall  candles  at  the  corners  of  the  table. 

'  I  see  the  eye  of  the  law  upon  me,  Mr.  White,' 
she  said,  gaily.  'What  will  the  verdict  be  ?' 

'  You  deserve  to  be  drawn  and  quartered,  Dora,' 
interjected  Mrs.  Duncan,  '  for  keeping  us  waiting 
seven  minutes.  Fortunately  I  knew  your  ways, 
and  allowed  ten.' 

'  Why  is  it  you  are  always  seven  minutes  late  ? ' 
asked  Duncan.  '  You  have  nothing  to  do.' 

'Nothing  to  do?  Well,  I  like  that!'  began 
Dorothy. 

'  Of    course,'    said    Duncan,    maliciously.      '  I 


38  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

think  I  should  like  having  nothing  to  do  myself 
— for  a  little  while.' 

'  That's  just  like  a  man  ! '  retorted  the  young 
lady.  '  I'm  sure  I've  done  more  than  you  have. 
I've  been  to  cooking  school,  and  I  have  had  an 
Italian  lesson,  and  I've  practised  two  hours,  and 
I've  been  shopping,  and  I've  paid  ten  visits,  besides 
keeping  house,  which  is  work  enough  for  one  able- 
bodied  woman.' 

'  Indeed  it  is,'  interrupted  Mrs.  Duncan,  whose 
household  was  organised  to  run  like  clock-work, 
and  who  never  heard  from  it  except  when  it 
struck. 

'  My  father  never  scolds,'  continued  Miss  Sar- 
gent, '  but  he  depends  on  me  to  make  him  com- 
fortable. I  don't  know  what  he'd  do  without 
me.' 

'  He  has  to  do  without  you  when  you  dine  out,' 
said  Duncan  slyly. 

'Oh,  then  I  send  him  off  to  the  club — and  he 
goes  like  a  lamb  !  Why,  in  the  three  weeks  before 
Lent  he  dined  at  home  only  once.' 

'  Was  he  invited  out  ? '  asked  Duncan. 

'  No  ;  but  I  was,'  she  answered  frankly.  '  He 
used  to  meet  Mr.  Thursby  at  the  club,  and  they 
dined  together.' 

'  Dick  Thursby  ?  '  asked  Mrs.  Duncan. 

'  Yes.  My  father's  very  fond  of  him  — he  says 
he's  a  man  of  a  thousand.' 

'  He's  a  man  of  a  good  many  thousands,  if 
report  can  be  believed,'  said  White,  remembering 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  39 

with  a' sudden  sinking  of  the  heart  that  rumour  re- 
ported this  Mr.  Thursby  as  very  devoted  to  Miss 
Sargent. 

'  His  wife  left  him  a  lot  of  money,'  said 
Duncan. 

'  And  her  mother  has  never  forgiven  him  for 
taking  it/  added  Mrs.  Duncan.  '  She  abuses  him 
dreadfully.' 

'No  man  is  a  hero  to  his  mother-in-law,' said 
White,  lightly.  He  was  afraid  of  Thursby,  but  he 
was  not  willing  to  say  anything  against  him. 

'  That's  not  because  he  may  not  be  a  hero,' 
suggested  Dorothy,  '  but  rather  because  she  is  a 
mother-in-law.' 

'  I  hear  he  is  beginning  to  take  notice  again,' 
remarked  Mrs.  Duncan. 

'  He's  been  flirting  outrageously  with  that 
Hitchcock  girl  all  winter,'  said  Dorothy. 

'  Dear  me,'  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  slyly,  '  I  thought 
he  had  been  very  attentive  to  you.' 

'  I  never  noticed  that,'  laughed  Dorothy,  as 
White  moved  uneasily.  'The  only  things  I  did 
notice  about  him  were  that  he  had  a  large  mouth, 
and  that  only  very  small  talk  fell  from  it.' 

'  Then  you  are  not  setting  your  cap  for  him  ? ' 
said  Duncan,  inquisitively. 

'  Do  you  think  I  am  a  young  lady  with  all  the 
modern  improvements  ready  to  marry  any  goose  if 
he  has  golden  eggs  ?  ' 

' 1  will  not  discuss  the  point  with  you,'  said 
Duncan.  'I  never  care  to  argue  at  dinner;  the 


40  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

one  who  is  not   hungry  always  gets  the  best  of 
it.' 

White  breathed  more  freely  when  he  heard  her 
treat  his  rival  thus  scornfully. 

'  I  did  not  think  Mr.  Thursby  was  an  unintelli- 
gent man/  said  Mrs.  Duncan  ;  '  he  was  in  Con- 
gress for  a  year  or  two.' 

'  Why  didn't  he  serve  his  full  term  ? '  asked 
White,  unable  to  resist  the  chance.  'Was  he 
pardoned  out  ? ' 

'  Mr.  White ' — and  Miss  Dorothy's  voice  was 
very  mischievous — '  when  you  speak  slightingly  of 
Congress,  perhaps  you  forget  that  my  father  has 
political  aspirations.' 

'  I  assure  you  I  did  not  know  it,'  and  poor 
White  blushed  scarlet  at  his  blunder. 

'  Mr.  Joshua  Hoffman  has  been  urging  my 
father  to  go  to  Congress  for  a  long  while.' 

'Joshua  Hoffman's  help  is  worth  having,'  re- 
marked Duncan,  as  he  tasted  his  champagne,  '  no 
matter  whether  what  you  want  is  in  this  world  or 
the  next.' 

'  It  is  delightful  to  see  how  all  classes  respect 
and  honour  Hoffman's  goodness,'  added  White. 
'  He's  one  of  the  few  men  who  belong  to  the 
Church  and  who  do  not  act  as  though  the  Church 
belonged  to  them.' 

'  He's  had  a  great  fancy  for  my  father,'  said 
Dorothy,  'ever  since  my  father  gave  him  Jean- 
nette  J.' 

'  He  ought  to  be  grateful  for  one  of  the  finest 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  41 

and  fastest  horses  on  the  track,'  answered  White, 
'  although  he  never  bets  on  her  or  lets  her  trot  for 
money.' 

'  Isn't  your  father  off  with  Joshua  Hoffman 
now  ?'  asked  Mrs.  Duncan. 

'  Oh  yes  !  they  are  at  Bermuda.  They  went 
on  the  "  Rhadamanthus."  ' 

White  suddenly  remembered  that  Joshua 
Hoffman's  yacht  was  the  only  ship  he  had  been 
able  to  find  resembling  the  '  Dare-Devil.' 

'At  least  my  father  went  on  her — Mr.  Hoffman 
was  delayed  at  the  last  moment,  and  had  to  wait 
over  for  the  regular  steamer.' 

'  Is  he  on  the  "  Rhadamanthus  "  now  ? '  queried 
White. 

'  Oh  yes,  he  is  there  now.  But  my  father  had 
to  go  down  all  alone.  He  didn't  mind  that,  as  the 
sailing-master  of  the  "  Rhadamanthus"  is  a  great 
friend  of  his.  He'd  do  anything  for  my  father  ;  I 
heard  him  say  so  once.' 

'  Perhaps  Mr.  Sargent  got  him  his  berth  ? '  sug- 
gested White,  strangely  interested  in  the  topic,  as 
he  was  in  anything  which  might  bear,  however 
remotely,  on  the  mysterious  pirate. 

'  I  believe  he  did,'  replied  Dorothy ;  '  but 
Captain  Mills  owed  my  father  a  great  deal  before 
that.  At  least  I  think  so.  I  suppose  I  might  as 
well  tell  the  whole  story.  It's  not  much,  either. 
But  one  summer,  several  years  ago,  I  had  been, 
asleep  in  a  hammock  on  the  piazza,  and  I  waked 
up  just  in  time  to  hear  Captain  Mills  say  :  "  I  owe 


42  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

you  more  than  I  can  ever  pay,  Mr.  Sargent.  You 
have  done  more  than  save  my  life.  Talk  is  cheap, 
but  I  hope  some  day  I  may  be  able  to  show  you 
that  I  do  not  forget."  ' 

'  And  what  did  your  father  say  to  that  ? '  asked 
Mrs.  Duncan. 

'  Well,  you  know  his  jocular  way.  He  said, 
"  That's  all  right,  captain  ;  first  time  I  want  a  man 
stabbed  in  the  back,  Italian  fashion,  I'll  let  you 
know."  And  Captain  Mills  took  my  father's  hand 
and  said,  very  seriously,  "  You  may  joke,  Mr.  Sar- 
gent, but  I  mean  what  I  say,  and,  short  of  murder, 
I  don't  believe  there's  anything  I'd  stick  at  to  do 
you  a  good  turn."  ' 

'  It's  lucky  your  father  isn't  a  bold  bad  man,' 
said  Duncan,  'or  he  might  get  Captain  Mills  to 
scuttle  the  ship,  or  to  splice  the  main  brace,  or  to 
do  any  of  the  wicked  things  that  sailor-men  de- 
light in.' 

'  Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  my  father,'  Dorothy 
answered,  gaily.  '  He  often  says  that  if  he  wasn't 
on  the  Street  he'd  like  to  be  a  pirate ! ' 

'  Indeed  ! '  ejaculated  White,  earnestly. 

*  He  has  a  whole  library  of  books  about  pirates, 
but  he  says  that  the  best  of  them  all  is  a  brief 
biography  of  Blackbeard,  which  he  found  his 
office-boy  reading.' 

'  Of  course  he  took  it  away  from  the  office-boy, 
and  scolded  him,'  remarked  Duncan,  'and  then 
went  into  his  private  office  and  devoured  it 
himself?' 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  43 

'That's  just  what  he  did,'  answered  Dorothy, 
'  and  he  says  it  is  the  most  expensive  book  in  his 
library  now,  for  while  he  was  reading  it  the  market 
went  up  or  down,  or  something,  and  he  lost  a 
chance  of  making  several  thousand  dollars.' 

'Piracy  is  a  losing  business  nowadays,'  said 
White. 

'  Of  course,'  added  Duncan,  quickly.  '  A  brave 
man  can  do  better  now-a-days  in  Wall  Street  than 
on  the  Spanish  Main.' 

'  I  have  always  heard  Captain  Mills  well 
spoken  of,'  remarked  White. 

'  Oh,  he's  a  fine  man  ! '  said  Dorothy,  enthusias- 
tically. '  And  I  am  so  glad  he  is  in  charge  of  the 
"  Rhadamanthus,"  now  that  Mr.  Hoffman  has  a  crew 
of  Lascars.' 

'  Lascars  ? '  said  Duncan  and  White  together, 
looking  at  each  other. 

'  Yes  ;  he  shipped  them  a  few  weeks  ago,  when 
he  was  in  the  Mediterranean.' 

1  Joshua  Hoffman  does  have  the  oddest  notions,1 
said  Mrs.  Duncan. 

'  Of  course,'  remarked  her  husband  ;  '  he  has 
very  queer  kinks  in  him.  But  he  is  a  good  man 
and  an  honourable  man,  and  the  whole  country  is 
proud  of  him  and  of  his  work.' 

The    conversation    thus    directed    to    Joshua 
Hoffman's  characteristically  American  career  was 
enlivened  by  many  anecdotes  of  his  poverty  in., 
youth,  of  his  shrewdness  in  business,  of  his  simple 
and  straightforward  integrity,  and  of  his  thoughtful 


44  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

and  comprehensive  charity.  Then  the  talk  turned 
to  other  topics  as  the  perfectly  served  dinner 
pursued  its  varied  courses.  At  last  came  coffee. 
The  two  ladies  rose  and  took  their  tiny  cups  into 
the  parlour,  leaving  the  two  men  to  smoke  their 
cigars  in  the  dining-room.  But  Robert  White  lent 
little  attention  to  Duncan's  shrewd  and  pleasant 
chat  when  Dorothy  Sargent  followed  Mrs.  Duncan 
across  the  parlour  to  the  piano,  and  began  to  sing. 
She  had  a  light,  clear,  soprano  voice,  sufficiently 
well  trained,  and  she  sang  without  effort,  and  as 
though  she  enjoyed  it. 

After  she  had  sung  two  or  three  songs  Mr. 
Duncan  called  out  from  the  dining-room,  'Now 
Miss  Dorothy,  by  request ' 

'  Oh,  I  know  what  you  want,'  she  interrupted, 
gaily. 

'Of  course,'  said  Duncan,  lighting  a  second 
cigar.  His  Scotch  ancestors  had  died  for  the 
Stuarts,  and  he  thrilled  with  hereditary  loyalty  as 
Miss  Sargent  sang  'Here's  a  health  of  King 
Charles,'  with  a  dramatic  intensity  for  which  the 
careless  observer  would  never  have  given  her 
credit. 

As  Robert  White  rose  to  join  the  ladies,  the 
butler  told  Mr.  Duncan  that  a  gentleman  wanted 
to  see  him. 

4  Close  the  doors  leading  into  the  Japanese 
room,'  said  Duncan,  '  and  show  the  gentleman  in 
here.' 

The  room  between  the  parlour  and  the  dining- 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  45 

room  Mrs.  Duncan  had  decorated  in  the  Japanese 
style.  The  walls  were  covered  with  Japanese 
paper  and  hung  with  plaques  of  cloisonnJ.  The 
furniture  was  of  bamboo  with  cushions  of  Japanese 
embroidery.  Japanese  lanterns,  dexterously  ar- 
ranged for  gas,  shed  a  gentle  light.  Although  the 
room  was  probably  hopelessly  incorrect  in  the 
eyes  of  a  Japanese — had  Mrs.  Duncan  had  one  on 
her  visiting  list — the  effect  was  novel,  and  exotic 
and  charming. 

White  passed  through  this  room,  and  joined 
Miss  Dorothy  at  the  piano.  He  turned  the  leaves 
for  her  as  she  sang  '  The  Shepherd's  Hour.'  He 
thought  she  had  never  looked  so  lovely,  and  he 
knew  he  had  never  loved  her  as  much.  He  felt 
that  the  time  had  come  when  he  must  put  his  for- 
tune to  the  touch,  when  he  must  learn  whether  life 
was  to  be  happiness  or  misery.  When  she  finished 
the  song  she  left  the  piano  hastily,  and  begged 
Mrs.  Duncan  to  play.  White  seconded  her.  Mrs. 
Duncan  was  an  admirable  pianist,  but  she  was  a 
match-maker  even  more  accomplished. 

'  I'll  play,'  she  said,  '  on  one  condition  only : 
you  two  must  go  into  the  Japanese  room  and 
talk.' 

'  Talk  while  you  are  playing  ? '  protested 
Dorothy. 

'Yes,'  answered  Mrs.  Duncan  firmly.  'You 
need  not  talk  loudly,  but  you  must  talk :  then  I 
shall  not  feel  as  though  I  were  giving  a  concert.'  ' 

'  If  we  must,  we  must,'  said  Dorothy  ;  and  she 


46  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

took  a  seat  in  the  Japanese  room.  White  sat 
himself  down  on  a  stool  at  her  feet,  as  Mrs.  Duncan 
began  one  of  Mendelsshon's  '  Lieder  ohne  Worte.' 

'  How  lovely  those  songs  without  words  are  ! ' 
said  Dorothy,  after  a  silence  which  threatened  to 
become  embarrassing. 

'  How  lovely  it  would  be,'  answered  White, 
'  if  we  could  express  ourselves  without  words,  if 
we  could  only  set  forth  without  speech  the  secret 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  our  souls  ! ' 

'  Do  you  really  think  so  ? '  asked  Dorothy. 
'  Sometimes  it  would  be  very  awkward,  I  fear.' 

'  Surely  you  would  not  mind  letting  the  whole 
world  read  your  innocent  heart  ? ' 

'  Indeed  I  should,'  cried  Dorothy.  Why,  there 
are  things  I  shouldn't  like  anybody  to  know.' 

Robert  White  noticed  the  sudden  blush  which 
accompanied  these  words.  In  his  eyes  her  delight- 
ful alternations  of  colour  were  perhaps  her  greatest 
beauty. 

'  I  wish  you  could  know  without  my  telling 
what  my  heart  is  full  of  just  now,'  he  said,  control- 
ling his  voice  as  best  he  could. 

The  colour  fled  from  her  cheek,  and  left  it  as 
white  as  marble.  With  a  little  effort,  she  said, 
'  How  do  I  know  that  it  would  interest  me  ? ' 

'  Don't  you  take  any  interest  in  me  ? '  asked 
White. 

'  Indeed  I  do,  Mr.  White,  but ' 

'  Then  you  must  have  seen  that  I  love  you,'  he 
interrupted,  unable  to  refrain  any  longer.  '  Don't 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  47 

tell  me  that  you  have  not  seen  it.     Don't  tell  me 
that  my  love  is  hopeless.' 

The  colour  came  back  slowly  to  her  face  and 
neck,  and  she  said,  shyly, '  I  do  not  tell  you  that, 
because  it  would  not  be  true.' 
'Then  you  do  love  me?' 
'Just  a  little  bit.' 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  as  Mrs.  Duncan 
turned  over  her  music  and  played  a  nocturne  of 
Chopin's. 

They  talked  on  in  perfect  bliss  for  a  few 
minutes,  then  she  said,  suddenly,  '  But  you  must 
speak  to  my  father.' 

'  I  will  ask  him  five  minutes  after  he  sets  foot 
on  shore.' 

'  He  will  never  consent,'  continued  Dorothy. 
'  He  has  always  said  he  could  never  let  me  go,  and 
I  have  always  promised  never  to  leave  him.' 

'  But  that  was  before  you  gave  yourself  to  me,' 
said  her  lover. 

'  I  suppose  so,  but  I  don't  know  what  he  will 
do  without  me.' 

'Just  think  how  I  have  done  without  you  all 
these  years.  It's  my  turn  now.' 

'  He  has  been  so  good  to  me  always.' 

'  I. will  be  so  good  to  you  always.  How  could 
I  be  anything  else  ? ' 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  leaned  forward  and 
kissed  her  softly. 

'  But  I  will  never  marry  you  without  his  consent,' 
she  said. 


48  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

Just  then  Eliphalet  Duncan  threw  open  the 
folding  doors  of  the  dining-room,  and  announced 
to  Miss  Dorothy  that  her  maid  and  her  coupe  had 
come  to  take  her  home.  As  White  rose  to  see  her 
into  the  carriage,  Duncan  asked  him  to  come  back 
a  minute  after  Miss  Sargent  was  off,  as  he  had 
something  to  tell.  White  waited  in  the  hall  while 
the  maid  bundled  Dorothy  up  in  her  fleecy  wraps. 
Then  he  helped  her  into  her  carriage.  The  sharp 
eyes  of  the  maid  were  on  him,  and  he  could  say 
nothing.  He  gave  her  hand  a  precious  squeeze  as 
she  said  '  Good-night.' 

'  May  I  see  you  to-morrow  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Yes,  to-morrow,'  she  answered  ;  and  with  this 
word  of  promise  and  hope  they  parted. 

White  went  up  to  Duncan's  study. 

'  Who  do  you  suppose  my  visitor  was  ?  '  asked 
Duncan. 

'  How  should  I  know  ? '  asked  White. 

'  He's  as  anxious  as  you  to  find  out  who  the 
pirate  was  that  stopped  the  "  Patagonia."  He  was 
one  of  our  passengers.  And  he  came  to  tell  me  a 
curious  discovery  of  his.  He  is  interested  in  a 
type- writer  manufactory,  and  he  noticed  certain 
peculiarities  in  the  notes  which  the  pirate  sent. 
As  soon  as  he  arrived  here  he  set  to  work  inves- 
tigating. He  has  found  out  that  the  type-writer 
used  by  the  pirate  is  one  of  a  new  style  just  put 
out  by  the  company  in  which  he  is  a  shareholder. 
This  new  style  was  for  sale  only  a  month  ago. 
Very  few  of  them  were  sold  before  the  First  of 
April— the  day  when  the  pirates  made  fools  of  us.' 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  49 

'  Has  he  a  list  of  the  purchasers  ? '  asked 
White,  anxiously. 

'  His  list  is  incomplete,  but  among  those  who 
bought  this  new  style  of  type-writer  was  Joshua 
Hoffman.' 

'  The  owner  of  the  "  Rhadamanthus"  ? '  inquired 
the  astonished  White. 

.'  Of  course/  said  Duncan. 


50  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 


IV. 

IN  THE  PIRATE'S  LAIR. 

To  any  one  not  accustomed  to  the  sharp  contrasts 
of  American  life  it  would  have  seemed  impossible 
that  Miss  Dorothy  Sargent  should  be  the  daughter 
of  Mr.  Samuel  Sargent.  She  was  slight  and 
graceful,  delicate  and  ethereal,  as  is  the  wont  of 
the  American  girl.  He  was  solid  and  florid  ;  he 
was  a  high  liver  and  of  a  full  habit.  His  eye  was 
very  quick  and  sharp,  as  though  it  was  always  on 
the  main  chance,  but  there  was  generally  to  be 
seen  a  genial  smile  on  his  sensual  mouth,  not 
altogether  hidden  by  a  heavy  moustache.  He  was 
at  once  a  very  smart  man  and  a  very  good  fellow. 
His  friends  often  referred  to  the  magnetism  of  his 
manner.  He  was  kindly,  generous,  shrewd,  and 
unscrupulous.  Moralities  differ,  and  Sam  Sargent 
had  the  morality  of  Wall  Street,  and  he  knew  no 
other :  he  would  engineer  a  corner  without  a 
thought  of  mercy  ;  but  he  never  '  went  back  '  on  his 
bank,  and  he  never  '  lay  down '  on  his  broker  ;  and 
these  are  the  cardinal  virtues  in  the  Street.  Ac- 
cording to  his  lights,  he  was  an  honest  man,  but 
he  wore  his  principles  easily,  and  he  had  cultivated 
his  senses  at  the  expense  of  his  conscience. 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  51 

His  father  had  skimped  and  scraped  for  years 
that  the  son  might  go  to  college,  and  was  now 
living  in  restful  happiness  on  a  big  farm  near 
his  native  town — a  farm  bought  for  him  by  his 
successful  son.  The  college  allowed  its  poorer 
students  to  pay  their  way  by  manual  labour,  and 
most  of  the  shelving  and  other  carpenter-v/ork  in 
the  college  library  had  been  done  by  Sam  Sargent, 
who  had  since  endowed  the  library  with  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars.  After  he  left  college  he  edited  a 
country  weekly  for  two  or  three  months ;  then  he 
turned  auctioneer ;  after  that  he  was  advance 
agent  for  a  small  circus  ;  then  the  war  broke  out, 
and  he  raised  a  company,  and  rose  to  be  colonel  of 
volunteers.  Wounded  and  sent  home  on  a  fur- 
lough, he  delayed  his  return  from  Washington  to  his 
Western  home  long  enough  to  marry  the  most  beau- 
tiful daughter  of  one  of  the  proudest  of  the  first 
families  of  Virginia.  After  helping  to  convert  the 
steamers  on  the  Upper  Mississippi  into  home-made 
ironclads,  he  resigned,  and  became  interested  in 
various  Government  contracts.  He  did  his  duty  by 
the  Government,  and  made  money  for  himself.  He 
put  his  earnings  into  the  little  local  railroad  of  his 
native  place.  When  the  war  was  over,  and  the  rail- 
roads of  the  West  began  to  be  consolidated  and  to 
push  across  the  plains  and  the  mountains,  the  little 
road  of  which  Sam  Sargent  was  president  was 
wanted  by  two  rival  systems.  Sam  Sargent  sold 
to  the  highest  bidder,  after  judiciously  playing  one 
against  the  other  ;  and  he  brought  his  money  and 


52  A   SECRET  OF   THE  SEA 

his  experience  to  Wall  Street.  A  man  cannot  run 
with  the  hare  and  hold  with  the  hounds  ;  on  the 
Street  a  new-comer  is  either  a  wolf  or  a  lamb  :  Sam 
Sargent  was  not  a  lamb.  In  the  uneasy  and  rest- 
less turmoil  of  the  Stock  Exchange  he  was  in  his 
element,  and  there  he  thrived.  Every  summer, 
when  stocks  were  sluggish  or  stagnant,  the  spe- 
culator sought  other  forms  of  excitement.  One 
year  he  hired  a  fast  yacht,  and  the  next  he  bought 
a  pair  of  fast  trotters.  One  summer  he  let  his 
fondness  for  poker  run  away  with  him,  and  he  was 
a  player  in  the  famous  game  which  lasted  two  days 
and  three  nights  :  at  the  end  of  the  second  day  he 
had  lost  #150,000,  but  during  the  last  night  he  won 
it  all  back,  and  $65,000  besides.  No  man  could 
deny  his  quickness,  his  coolness,  or  his  nerve.  Of 
late  he  had  begun  to  take  an  interest  in  politics, 
and  he  was  known  to  be  seeking  a  nomination  for 
Congress  from  one  of  the  brown-stone  districts : 
the  machine  of  his  party  was  all  ready  to  work  in 
his  behalf.  To  attain  to  this  honour  was  his  one 
unsatisfied  desire,  and  his  heart  was  set  on  it. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  '  Patagonia'  had 
been  robbed  off  the  Banks  by  the  '  Dare-Devil,'  Mr. 
Joshua  Hoffman's  yacht,  the  '  Rhadamanthus,'  re- 
turned to  New  York  from  Bermuda,  bringing  back 
Mr.  Sam  Sargent  and  Mr.  Joshua  Hoffman  him- 
self. Among  the  letters  which  Sargent  found  on 
the  table  of  his  handsome  private  office  in  the 
Bowdoin  Building,  No.  76  Broadway,  overlooking 
a  part  of  Trinity  Churchyard,  was  one  from  Robert 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  53 

White,  requesting  an  immediate  interview  on  a 
matter  of  the  highest  importance.  Sargent  knew 
White's  name  as  a  rising  young  literary  man,  he 
had  heard  his  daughter  speak  of  meeting  White, 
and  he  was  aware  of  White's  connection  with  the 
'  Gotham  Gazette.'  He  wrote  Mr.  White  a  polite 
note,  saying  that  he  should  be  glad  to  see  him  the 
next  day  at  three. 

Precisely  at  three  the  next  afternoon,  as  the 
bells  of  Trinity  rang  the  hour  over  the  hurrying 
heads  of  the  sojourners  in  Wall  Street,  Robert 
White  handed  his  card  to  the  office-boy  of  Sargent 
and  Company,  and  was  shown  at  once  into  the 
private  office  of  the  special  partner.  Sargent  rose 
to  receive  him,  saying,  '  I'm  glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  Mr.  White.  There  is  a  comfortable 
chair.  What  can  I  do  for  you  to-day  ?  ' 

As  he  said  this  he  gave  White  a  look  which 
took  him  in  through  and  through.  White  felt  that 
Sargent  had  formed  at  once  an  opinion  of  his 
character,  and  that  this  opinion  was  probably  in 
the  main  accurate.  '  Are  we  alone,'  he  asked, '  and 
secure  from  interruption  ? ' 

Sargent  stepped  to  the  door  and  said  to  the 
attending  office-boy,  '  If  anybody  calls,  just  say  I 
have  gone.'  Then  he  closed  the  door  and  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock.  Taking  his  seat  at  his  desk, 
he  said,  '  Now,  Mr.  White,  I  am  at  your  service.' 

'As  I  wrote  you,  Mr.  Sargent,  I  desire  a  fewx 
minutes'  talk  with  you  on  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance,' began  White. 


54  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

1  Excuse  me  a  moment,'  interrupted  Sargent, 
taking  a  box  of  cigars  from  a  drawer  in  his  desk. 
'  Do  you  smoke  ? ' 

White  declined  courteously. 

'  I  trust  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  light  up  ? ' 

'  Certainly,'  said  White. 

'  I  never  smoke  during  business  hours/  ex- 
plained Sargent,  '  but  at  three  I  always  indulge 
myself  in  a  little  nicotine.' 

White  noticed  that  under  cover  of  the  first  two 
or  three  puffs  of  smoke  the  speculator  gave  him  a 
second  penetrating  examination.  The  journalist 
knew  that  his  task  was  difficult  enough  at  best, 
and  this  little  manoeuvre  seemed  to  double  the 
difficulty.  But  his  voice  did  not  reveal  this  feeling 
as  he  said  : 

'  The  business  I  have  to  speak  about,  Mr. 
Sargent,  is  as  private  as  it  is  important.  I  am 
aware  that  for  a  moment  I  may  seem  to  you  to  be 
prying,  not  to  say  impertinent.  I  beg  to  assure 
you  in  advance  that  such  is  not  my  intent.  If  you 
will  bear  with  me  until  I  am  done,  I  think  you 
will  then  pardon  my  apparent  intrusion.' 

'  Fire  away,'  said  Sargent,  blowing  a  series  of 
concentric  rings  of  smoke,  '  and  put  the  ball  as 
close  to  the  bull's-eye  as  you  can.' 

'  What  I  desire  to  talk  about  is  the  taking  of 
ioo,ooo/.  in  specie  from  the  "  Patagonia  "  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  First  of  April.' 

*  Indeed  ? '  queried  Sargent,  sending  forth  a  final 
ring  of  smoke  as  perfect  as  any  of  its  predecessors. 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  55 

*  And  pray  what  have  I  to  do  with  that  little  specu- 
lation in  gold  ? ' 

'  At  the  time  that  money  was  taken  you  were 
short  of  Transcontinental  Telegraph  stock,  and 
you  stood  to  lose  nearly  half  a  million  dollars/ 

'  If  you  had  not  warned  me  that  you  would  be 
intrusive,  I  think  I  should  have  been  able  to  dis- 
cover it  for  myself.' 

'  Hear  me  out' 

'  I  do  not  see  any  connection  between  my 
private  affairs  and  the  "  Patagonia  "  adventure.  But 
go  on.' 

White  continued  in  the  calm  voice  he  had 
maintained  from  the  beginning  of  the  interview : 

'  Before  that  gold  could  be  landed  in  Nova 
Scotia  there  had  been  a  panic  here  in  Wall  Street, 
the  bottom  had  dropped  out  of  Transcontinental 
Telegraph,  your  partners  had  covered  your  shorts, 
and  you  were  in  a  fair  way  to  make  a  good  profit.' 

'  Well  ?  '  asked  Sargent,  quietly. 

'  Well — then  the  gold  from  the  "  Patagonia"  was 
restored  to  its  owners.'  As  he  said  this,  White 
watched  Sargent  closely.  A  second  series  of 
vortex  rings  was  in  process  of  construction.  Sud- 
denly Sargent  turned  slightly,  and  looked  White 
full  in  the  face. 

'  Mr.  White,  it  is  evident  that  you  do  not  know 
me.  I  am  a  bad  man  to  bluff.  I  do  not  choose 
to  understand  you  insinuendoes,  as  the  darkey 
called  them ' 

'  I  made  no  insinuations.' 


56  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

'You  have  been  dropping  mysterious  hints, 
said  Sargent,  firmly. 

'  If  you  have  picked  them  up,  why ' 

'Just  let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  White,  that  if  you 
pick  me  up  for  a  fool,  you  will  lay  me  down  again 
like  a  red-hot  poker.  I  see  you  are  driving  at 
something.  Now  just  stop  this  feeling  over  the 
surface  and  cut  to  the  quick.  If  you  have  any- 
thing to  say,  say  it  out  and  be  done  with  it.' 

'  I  can  put  the  matter  in  a  nutshell,  if  you  will 
give  me  five  minutes,'  said  White,  quietly. 

'  Load  your  nutshell  and  touch  off  the  fuse,' 
answered  Sargent,  settling  back  comfortably  in  his 
chair. 

'My  chain  is  not  quite  complete,  I  confess,' 
began  White  ;  *  there  are  several  slight  links  want- 
ing. But  it  is  strong  enough.  Here  is  my  story  : 
When  the  "Patagonia"  sailed  from  Queenstown 
with  ioo,ooo/.  on  board,  you  were  in  urgent  need  of 
about  $500,000,  Owing  to  the  unexpected  de- 
tention of  Mr.  Joshua  Hoffman  in  this  city,  you 
were  the  sole  passenger  on  the  "  Rhadamanthus  " 
when  she  cleared  from  New  York  for  Bermuda. 
The  crew  of  the  "  Rhadamanthus  "  were  Lascars. 
The  captain  was  under  great  obligations  to  you, 
and  would  do  anything  for  you.' 

Here  White  remarked  that  Sargent  gave  him  a 
quick  look  as  who  should  say,  '  How  came  you  to 
know  that  ? ' 

'  Instead  of  going  directly  to  Bermuda,  you 
made  for  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland.  On  the 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  57 

voyage  up  you  rigged  a  false  funnel  on  the  "  Rha- 
damanthus,"  you  built  false  bulwarks,  and  you 
mounted  a  Quaker  gun  amidships/ 

Again  White  caught  the  same  quick  look,  as 
though  Sargent,  in  spite  of  his  self-control,  was 
surprised  at  the  accuracy  of  White's  information. 

'  You  arrived  off  the  Banks  just  in  time  to  inter- 
cept the  "  Patagonia."  You  fired  across  her  bows 
with  the  little  gun  of  the  yacht.  You  pretended 
to  load  the  Quaker  gun.  You  sent  a  message  to 
the  captain  of  the  "  Patagonia  " — a  message  written 
by  a  type-writer  bought  by  Joshua  Hoffman  the 
day  before  the  yacht  sailed.  You  stained  your 
face  and  put  on  a  false  beard,  and  you  yourself  sat 
in  the  stern-sheets  of  the  gig  which  was  rowed  out 
to  receive  the  gold.  When  you  left  the  "  Patagonia," 
as  night  fell,  you  steamed  straight  for  the  little 
place  which  Captain  Mills  owns  on  the  coast  of 
Nova  Scotia  near  Halifax.  You  landed  the  gold 
at  his  private  dock  by  night :  fortunately  for  you, 
no  custom-house  official  caught  sight  of  you. 
Whether  you  had  intended  to  take  the  gold  and 
fly,  or  whether  you  meant  to  use  it  to  pay  your 
losses  in  the  Transcontinental  Telegraph  corner,  I 
do  not  know.  But  when  you  touched  land  you 
got  the  news  of  the  panic  here,  and  of  the  fall  in 
the  price  of  Transcontinental  Telegraph.  No  longer 
needing  the  money,  you  determined  to  return  it, 
and  to  let  the  affair  pass  off  as  a  practical  joke  ap- 
propriate to  the  First  of  April.  Mrs.  Mills  took  the 
cases  to  Halifax,  and  saw  that  they  were  forwarded 


58  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

to  New  York.  Then  you  took  the  yacht  to  Bermuda 
as  fast  as  she  could  steam,  getting  there  long 
before  Mr.  Joshua  Hoffman  arrived  on  the  regular 
steamer.  No  one  in  Bermuda  connected  the  "  Rha- 
damanthus  "  with  the  "  Dare-Devil,"  because  no  one 
knew  anything  about  the  temporary  robbery  of  the 
'  Patagonia '  until  the  arrival  of  the  mail.  There  is 
no  telegraph  to  Bermuda.  The  gold  having  been 
returned  to  its  owners,  you  thought  there  would 
be  no  motive  for  pursuit  and  for  prosecution. 
You  believed  that  the  whole  matter  would  blow 
over,  and  that  long  before  you  got  back  to  New 
York  people  would  have  something  else  to  talk 
about  than  the  adventure  of  the  "  Patagonia."  For 
further  safety  you  have  persuaded  Mr.  Joshua  Hoff- 
man to  send  the  "  Rhadamanthus  "  to  Rio  Janeiro 
to  bring  back  the  boy-naturalist  who  has  been 
making  collections  along  the  Amazon.  She  passed 
Sandy  Hook  about  six  hours  ago.' 

As  White  paused  here,  Sargent  swung  around  in 
his  chair  and  took  another  cigar  from  the  box  in 
the  drawer  of  his  desk.  '  Have  you  finished  ? '  he 
asked. 

'  I  have  finished,'  answered  White.  '  As  you 
requested,  I  have  told  my  tale  as  briefly  as  possible. 
But  I  have  written  it  out  in  full,  setting  down  all 
the  facts  in  order,  and  giving  dates  and  figures  as 
exactly  as  I  could.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to 
glance  over  it' 

Sargent  took  the  flat  little  bundle  of  papers 
which  White  held  out  to  him,  and  dropped  it  into 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  59 

his  pocket  He  lighted  his  second  cigar  from  the 
first  Then  he  said,  pleasantly :  '  This  is  a  very 
pretty  little  ghost  story  of  yours,  Mr.  White,  but 
do  you  think  you  can  get  anybody  to  take  any 
stock  in  it  ?  ' 

'  I  believe  the  public  will  take  an  interest  in  it 
—if ' 

'  If  ?  '  asked  Sargent,  with  his  cigar  in  the  air. 

'  If  I  publish  it' 

'  Ah,  if  you  publish  it.'  And  Sargent  smiled 
meaningly,  and  the  whole  expression  of  his  face 
changed  at  once.  « Very  well.  How  much  ? ' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon  ? '  said  White,  interroga- 
tively. 

'  How  much  do  you  want  ? ' 

'  Mr.  Sargent ! '  and  White  rose  to  his  feet,  in- 
dignantly. 

'  Sit  down  again,  Mr.  White  ;  we  are  talking 
business  now.  How  much  do  you  want  to  sup- 
press this  story  ? ' 

White  clinched  the  back  of  the  chair  firmly  in 
his  hand,  and  said,  '  I  did  not  expect  to  be  insulted 
by  the  offer  of  a  paltry  bribe.' 

'  Who  said  anything  about  a  paltry  bribe  ?  I 
asked  you  how  much  ?' 

By  this  time  White  had  recovered  his  temper. 
He  sat  down  again.  '  You  do  not  know  me  if  you 
think  I  am  to  be  bought,  Mr.  Sargent  I  am 
hesitating  as  to  the  publication  of  the  facts  in  this 
case  because  I  am  not  yet  quite  clear  in  my  own 
mind  as  to  my  duty  in  the  matter.' 


60  A    SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

'  Indeed  ? '  there  was  a  covert  sneer  in  Sargent's 
manner  as  he  dropped  this  one  word. 

'  Perhaps  self-interest  might  resolve  my  doubts,' 
continued  White.  '  Perhaps  I  could  more  readily 
make  up  my  mind  to  say  nothing  about  your  con- 
nection with  the  affair  of  the  "  Patagonia  "  if ' 

'  If ?  '  repeated  Sargent. 

'If  I  felt  jealous  of  your  reputation  on  my 
own  account — in  short,  if  I  were  a  member  of  your 
family.' 

'  You  don't  want  me  to  adopt  you,  do  you  ? ' 
asked  Sargent,  brusquely. 

'  No,  not  exactly,'  answered  White,  hesitating, 
now  he  had  reached  the  point.  '  But  I  want  to 
marry  your  daughter.' 

Sargent  looked  at  him  in  silent  astonishment 
Then  he  whistled.  '  You  want  to  marry  my 
daughter  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

'Then  the  main  question  is  not  what  I  think, 
but  what  she  thinks.  Does  she  want  to  marry 
you  ? ' 

'  She  told  me  so  the  last  time  I  saw  her,'  said 
White,  quietly. 

Sargent  stood  up  in  his  surprise.  But  all  he 
said  was,  '  What  ? ' 

'  I  asked  her  to  marry  me,  and  she  promised  to 
do  so — if  you  would  consent.' 

'  Ah,'  said  Sargent ;  '  so  you  are  engaged  ?  ' 

'  Yes,'  we  are  engaged,'  answered  White. 

'  But  I  have  always  told  Dorothy  that  I  would 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  61 

never  consent  to  her  marrying  anybody.  I  want 
her  myself.  I  do  not  wish  her  to  leave  me.' 

'  That's  what  she  told  me.' 

*  And  yet  she  has  engaged  herself  to  you  ? ' 

'  We  are  engaged — yes  ;  but  we  shall  not  be 
married  until  you  give  your  consent.' 

'  And  you  expect  me  to  yield  ? '  asked  Sargent, 
harshly. 

'  That's  why  I  came  to  see  you  to-day,'  an- 
swered White,  gently. 

'  Well,  you  are  the  cheekiest '  young  fellow  I 
ever  saw.'  And  Sargent  sat  down  again,  and 
struck  a  match  to  relight  his  cigar. 

White  asked  anxiously,  '  Will  you  consent  ? ' 

Sargent  took  two  or  three  puffs  at  his  cigar, 
and  replied :  'Of  course.  I  have  to  consent. 
That  girl  makes  me  do  what  she  pleases.  I  have 
never  refused  her  anything  yet.  If  she  wants  you 
for  a  husband,  she  shall  have  you.' 

'Thank  you '  began  White. 

'  You  needn't  thank  me,'  interrupted  Sargent ; 
'  you  had  better  go  and  thank  her,  and  tell  her  you 
are  going  to  dine  with  us  to-day.' 

As  Sargent  and  White  came  down  the  stairs 
of  the  Bowdoin  Building  a  begging  peddler  jostled 
against  the  speculator,  who  cursed  him  cheerfully, 
and  then  gave  him  a  quarter.  At  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  White  met  Eliphalet  Duncan,  who  was  just 
going  up  to  his  office.  He  felt  so  happy  that  he* 
stopped  Duncan  to  tell  him  he  was  engaged  to 


62  A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA 

be  married,  and  to  ask  him  if  he  could  guess  to 
whom. 

'  Of  course,'  answered  Duncan — '  to  Miss  Sar- 
gent.' 

Then  Sargent  and  White  walked  on,  and 
Duncan  went  upstairs.  As  he  came  to  the  first 
landing  he  saw  a  flat  little  bundle  of  paper.  He 
picked  it  up,  and  took  it  into  his  office  for  exa- 
mination, to  see  if  he  might  discover  its  owner. 

In  September,  at  Newport,  toward  the  end  of 
the  waning  season,  and  just  before  those  who  are 
always  in  the  thick  of  gaiety  and  fashion  aban- 
doned Newport  for  Lenox,  there  was  a  wed- 
ding. Dorothy  Sargent  and  Robert  White  were 
married. 

Sam  Sargent,  left  alone,  turned  to  politics  with 
his  wonted  energy.  On  the  evening  after  his 
interview  with  White  in  April  he  had  had  a  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour,  for  he  could  not  find  the  full 
and  detailed  statement  of  the  '  Patagonia '  affair 
which  White  had  given,  and  which  he  could  have 
sworn  he  put  in  his  pocket.  For  a  while  he  did 
not  dare  give  rein  to  his  ambition.  If  this  paper 
had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  political  enemy,  his 
election  to  any  office  became  impossible.  But  as 
time  passed  on  and  he  got  no  news  of  the  missing 
document,  he  began  to  hope  that  it  had  been 
destroyed  without  examination.  A  few  days  after 
his  daughter's  wedding  he  received  the  nomination 
for  Congress  for  which  he  had  intrigued  un- 


A   SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  63 

ceasingly,  and  he  had  made  a  pungent  little  speech 
accepting  the  honour. 

The  next  evening  the  sword  of  Damocles  fell. 
He  received  a  short,  sharp  note  bidding  him  find 
some  excuse  at  once  for  declining  the  nomination, 
or  the  exact  truth  would  be  published  concerning 
his  connection  with  the  robbery  of  the  '  Patagonia' 
on  the  First  of  April.  As  Sam  Sargent  read  this 
he  knew  of  a  certainty  that  he  had  a  guardian 
enemy,  and  that  his  political  career  was  at  an  end 
for  ever.  He  took  up  the  fatal  missive  to  read  it 
again,  and  for  the  first  time  he  noticed  that  it  was 
written  on  a  type-writer,  and  that  it  was  signed 
'  Lafitte.' 


'LOVE  AT   FIRST   SIGHT' 


•LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT: 

A  DOUBTFUL  day  of  mingled  snow  and  rain, 
such  as  we  often  have  in  New  York  in  February, 
had  been  followed,  as  night  fell,  by  a  hard  frost ; 
and  as  Robert  White  mounted  the  broad  brown- 
stone  steps  of  Mrs.  Martin's  house  and,  after  ringing 
the  bell,  looked  across  Washington  Square  to  the 
pseudo-picturesque  University  building,  he  felt 
that  form  of  gratitude  toward  his  hostess  which  has 
been  defined  as  a  lively  sense  of  benefits  to  come. 
His  ten-minute  walk  through  the  hard  slush  of 
the  pavements  had  given  an  edge  to  his  appetite, 
and  he  knew  of  old  that  the  little  dinners  of  the 
Duchess  of  Washington  Square  were  everything 
that  little  dinners  should  be.  He  anticipated  con- 
fidently a  warm  reception  by  his  hospitable  hostess ; 
an  introduction  to  a  pretty  girl,  probably  as  clever 
as  she  was  good-looking ;  a  dignified  procession 
into  the  spacious  dining-room  ;  a  bountiful  dinner, 
neither  too  long  nor  too  short  ;  as  well  served  as 
it  was  well  cooked ;  and  at  the  end  a  good  cup  of 
coffee  and  a  good  cigar,  and  a  pleasant  quarter  of 
an  hour's  chat  with  four  or  five  agreeable  men,  not 
the  least  agreeable  of  them  being  Mr.  Martin,  who 


68  « LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 

was  known  to  most  people  only  as  Mrs.  Martin's 
husband,  but  whom  White  had  discovered  to  be  as 
shrewd  and  sharp  as  he  was  reserved  and  retiring. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass,  except  that  the  state  of 
the  streets  had  made  White  a  little  late,  wherefore 
the  Duchess  was  slightly  hurried  and  peremptory. 
She  took  him  at  once  under  her  wing  and  led  him 
up  to  a  very  pretty  girl.  '  Phyllis/  she  said,  '  this 
is  Mr.  White,  to  whom  I  confide  you  for  the 
evening.' 

As  White  bowed  before  the  young  lady  whom 
Mrs.  Martin  had  called  Phyllis,  he  wished  that  the 
Duchess  had  kindly  added  her  patronymic,  as  it  is 
most  embarrassing  not  to  know  to  whom  one  is 
talking.  But  there  was  no  time  for  inquiry  ;  the 
rich  velvet  curtains  which  masked  the  open  door- 
way leading  from  the  parlour  into  the  hall  were 
pushed  aside,  and  the  venerable  coloured  butler  an- 
nounced that  dinner  was  served.  White  offered 
his  arm  to  Miss  Phyllis,  and  they  filed  into  the 
dining-room  in  the  wake  of  Mr.  Martin  and  Mrs. 
Sutton ;  the  Duchess,  on  the  arm  of  Judge 
Gillespie,  brought  up  the  rear. 

There  were  fourteen  at  table, — a  number  too 
large  for  general  conversation,  and  therefore  con- 
ducive to  confidential  talks  between  any  two  con- 
genial spirits  who  might  be  sitting  side  by  side. 
White  had  at  his  left  Mrs.  Sutton,  but  she  was  a 
great  favourite  with  Mr.  Martin,  and  White  had 
scarcely  a  word  with  her  throughout  the  dinner.  On 
the  other  side  of  Miss  Phyllis  was  a  thin,  short, 


*LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT'  69 

dyspeptic  little  man,  Mr.  C.  Mather  Hitchcock, 
whom  White  knew  slightly,  and  whom  Miss  Phyllis 
evidently  did  not  like,  as  White  saw  at  a  glance. 
So  it  happened  that  White  and  Miss  Phyllis  were 
wholly  dependent  on  each  other  for  entertainment 
as  long  as  they  might  sit  side  by  side  at  the 
Duchess's  table. 

'  A  mean  day  like  this  makes  the  comfortable 
luxury  of  a  house  like  Mrs.  Martin's  all  the  more 
grateful,'  began  White,  by  way  of  breaking  the  ice  ; 
'  don't  you  think  so  ? ' 

'  It  has  been  a  day  to  make  one  understand 
what  weather-prophets  have  in  mind  when  they 
talk  about  the  average  mean  temperature  of  New 
York,'  she  answered,  smiling. 

'  I  hope  you  do  not  wish  to  insinuate  that  the 
average  temperature  of  New  York  is  mean.  I 
have  lived  here  only  a  few  years,  but  I  am  prepared 
to  defend  the  climate  of  New  York  to  the  bitter 
end.' 

'  Then  you  must  defend  the  weather  of  to-day,1 
she  retorted  gaily,  'for  it  had  a  very  bitter  end. 
I  felt  like  the  maid  in  the  garden  hanging  out  the 
clothes,  for  down  came  a  black  wind  to  bite  off  my 
nose.' 

'  Just  now  you  remind  me  rather  of  the  queen 
in  the  parlour  eating  bread  and  honey.' 

'  I  have  an  easy  retort,'  she  laughed  back.      *  I 
can  say  you   are   like   the   king   in   his   chamber' 
counting  out  his  money  :  for  that  is  how  most  New 
York  men  seem  to  spend  their  days.' 


70  ''LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 

*  But    I    am    not   a   business  man,'  explained 
White,   thinking   that  Miss    Phyllis  was  a   ready 
young  lady  with  her  wits  about  her,  and  regretting 
again  that  he  had  not  learnt  her  name. 

'  They  say  that  there  are  only  two  classes  who 
scorn  business  and  never  work — the  aristocrats 
and  the  tramps,'  she  rejoined  mischievously.  '  Am 
I  to  infer  that  you  are  an  aristocrat  or  a  tramp  ? ' 

'  I  regret  to  say  that  I  am  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  A  tramp  is  often  a  philosopher — of  the 
peripatetic  school  of  course  ;  and  an  aristocrat  is 
generally  a  gentleman,  and  often  a  good  fellow. 
No,  I  am  afraid  your  inference  was  based  on  a  false 
premise.  I  am  not  a  business  man,  but,  all  the 
same,  I  earn  my  living  by  my  daily  work.  I  am  a 
journalist,  and  I  am  on  the  staff  of  the  "  Gotham 
Gazette." ' 

'  Oh,  you  are  an  editor  ?  I  am  so  glad.  I 
have  always  wanted  to  see  an  editor,'  ejaculated 
Miss  Phyllis  with  increasing  interest. 

'  You  may  see  one  now,'  he  answered.  '  I  am 
on  exhibition  here  from  seven  to  nine  to-night.' 

*  And  you  are  really  an  editor  ? '  she  queried, 
gazing  at  him  curiously. 

*  I  am  a  journalist  and  I  write  brevier,  so  I  sup- 
pose I  may  be  considered  as  a  component  unit  of 
the  editorial  plural,'  he  replied. 

'  And  you  write  editorials  ? ' 
'  I  do  ;  I  have  written  yards  of  them — I  might 
almost  say  miles  of  them.' 

'  How  odd  !    Somehow  the  editorials  of  a  great 


*LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT^  71 

paper  always  remind  me  of  the  edicts  of  the 
Council  of  Ten  in  Venice — nobody  knows  whose 
they  are,  and  yet  all  men  tremble  before  them.' 
As  she  said  this,  Miss  Phyllis  looked  at  him  medi- 
tatively for  a  moment,  and  then  she  went  on,  im- 
pulsively, '  And  what  puzzles  me  is  how  you  ever 
find  anything  to  say  ! ' 

A  quiet  smile  played  over  White's  face  as  he 
answered  gravely,  '  We  have  to  write  a  good  deal, 
but  we  do  not  always  say  anything  in  particular.' 

'  When  I  read  the  telegrams,'  continued  Miss 
Phyllis,  'especially  the  political  ones,  I  never  know 
exactly  what  it's  all  about  until  I've  read  the  edi- 
torial. Then,  of  course,  it  all  seems  clear  enough. 
T&utyoii  have  to  make  all  that  up  out  of  your  own 
head.  It  must  be  very  wearing.' 

The  young  journalist  wondered  for  a  second 
whether  this  was  sarcasm  or  not ;  then  he  admitted 
that  he  had  been  using  up  the  gray  matter  of  his 
brain  very  rapidly  of  late. 

4 1  know  I  exhausted  myself  one  election,'  she 
went  on,  '  when  I  tried  to  understand  politics.  I 
thought  it  my  duty  to  hear  both  sides,  so  I  read 
two  papers.  But  they  contradicted  each  other  so, 
and  they  got  me  so  confused,  that  I  had  to  give  it  up. 
Really  I  hadn't  any  peace  of  mind  at  all  until  I 
stopped  reading  the  other  paper.  Of  course  I 
couldn't  do  without  the  "  Gotham  Gazette." ' 

'  Then  are  all  our  labours  amply  rewarded  ?  '  sard 
White  gallantly,  thinking  that  he  had  only  once 
met  a  young  lady  more  charming  than  Miss  Phyllis. 


72  'LOVE  AT  FIRS7   SIGHT1 

'  Now  tell  me,  Mr.  White,  what  part  of  the 
paper  do  you  write  ?  ' 

'  Tell  me  what  part  of  the  paper  you  read  first 
— but  I  think  I  can  guess  that.  You  always  begin 
with  the  deaths  and  then  pass  on  to  the  marriages. 
Don't  you  ? ' 

Miss  Phyllis  hesitated  a  moment,  blushed  a 
little, — whereat  White  thought  her  even  prettier 
than  he  had  at  first, — and  then  confessed.  '  I  do 
read  the  deaths  first ;  and  why  not  ?  Our  going 
out  of  the  world  is  the  most  important  thing  we  do 
in  it.' 

'Except  getting  married — and  that's  why  you 
read  the  marriages  next  ? '  he  asked. 

'  I  suppose  so.  I  acknowledge  that  I  read  the 
marriages  with  delight.  Naturally  I  know  very 
few  of  the  brides,  but  that  is  no  matter — there  is 
all  the  more  room  for  pleasant  speculation.  It's 
like  reading  only  the  last  chapter  of  a  novel — you 
have  to  invent  for  yourself  all  that  went  before.' 

'  Then  you  like  the  old-fashioned  novels,  which 
always  ended  like  the  fairy  stories,  "  So  they  were 
married  and  lived  happily  ever  afterward  ?  " '  he 
queried. 

'  Indeed  I  do/ she  answered  vehemently.  '  Unless 
I  have  orange-blossoms  and  wedding-cake  given  to 
me  at  the  end  of  a  story,  I  feel  cheated.' 

'  I  suppose  you  insist  on  a  novel's  being  a  love- 
story  ?'  White  inquired. 

'  If  a  story  isn't  a  love-story,'  she  answered 
energetically, '  it  isn't  a  story  at  all.  Why,  when  I 


<LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT*  73 

was  only  nine  years  old,  a  little  chit  of  a  girl,  I 
wouldn't  read  Sunday-School  books,  because  there 
was  no  love  in  them  ! ' 

Robert  White  laughed  gently,  and  said,  '  I 
spurned  the  Sunday-school  book  when  I  was  nine 
too,  but  that  was  because  the  bad  boys  had  all  the 
fun  and  the  good  boys  had  to  take  all  the  medicine, 
in  spite  of  which,  however,  they  were  often  cut  off 
in  the  flower  of  their  youth.' 

'  Do  you  ever  write  stories,  Mr.  White  ? ' 

'  I  have  been  guilty  of  that  evil  deed,'  he  an- 
swered. 'I  had  a  tale  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette"  one 
Sunday  a  few  months  ago,  called  "  The  Parrot  that 
Talked  in  his  Sleep  "  ;  it  was  a  little  study  in  zoo- 
logic  psychology.  Did  you  read  it? ' 

'  I  don't  seem  to  recall  it,'  she  hesitated.  '  I'm 
afraid  I  must  have  missed  it.' 

'  Then  you  missed  a  great  intellectual  treat,' 
said  the  journalist,  with  humorous  exaggeration. 
'  Fiction  is  stranger  than  truth  sometimes,  and  there 
were  absolutely  no  facts  at  all  in  "  The  Parrot  that 
Talked  in  his  Sleep."' 

'  It  was  a  fantastic  tale,  then  ? ' 

1  Well,  it  was  rather  eccentric.' 

*  You  must  send  it  to  me.  I  like  strange,  weird 
stories — if  they  do  not  try  to  be  funny.  They  say 
I  haven't  any  sense  of  humour,  and  I  certainly  do 
not  like  to  see  anybody  trying  hard  to  be  funny.'  , 

With  a  distinct  recollection  that  'The  Parrot 
that  Talked  in  his  Sleep '  had  been  noticed  by 
several  friendly  editors  as '  one  of  the  most  amusing 


74  *LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT* 

and  comical  conceits  ever  perpetrated  in  America,' 
White  thought  it  best  not  to  promise  a  copy  of  it 
to  Miss  Phyllis. 

'  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  another  sketch  I 
published  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette," '  he  ventured. 
'  It  was  called  "  At  the  End  of  his  Tether,"  and  it 
described  a  quaint  old  man  who  gave  up  his  life  to 
the  collecting  of  bits  of  the  ropes  which  had  hanged 
famous  murderers.' 

'  How  gruesome  ! '  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little 
shudder,  although  the  next  minute  she  asked  with 
interest :  '  And  what  did  he  do  with  them  ? ' 

'  He  arranged  them  with  great  care,  and  labelled 
them  exactly,  and  gloated  over  them  until  his  mind 
gave  way,  and  then  he  spliced  them  together  and 
hung  himself  on  a  gallows  of  his  own  inventing.' 

'  How  delightfully  interesting  ! ' 

'  It  was  a  little  sketch  after  Hawthorne — along 
way  after,'  he  added  modestly. 

'  I  just  doat  on  Hawthorne,'  remarked  Miss 
Phyllis  critically.  '  Pie  never  explains  things,  and 
so  you  have  more  room  for  guessing.  I  do  hate 
to  see  everything  spelt  out  plain  at  the  end  of  a 
book.  I'm  satisfied  to  know  that  they  got  married 
and  were  happy,  and  I  don't  care  to  be  told  just 
how  old  their  children  were  when  they  had  the 
whooping-cough ! ' 

'  A  hint  is  as  good  as  a  table  of  statistics  to  a 
sharp  reader,'  said  the  journalist.  '  I  think  the 
times  are  ripe  for  an  application  to  fiction  of  the 
methods  Corot  used  in  painting  pictures.  Father 


•LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT*  75 

Corot,  as  the  artists  call  him,  gave  us  a  firm  and 
vigorous  conception  veiled  by  a  haze  of  artistic 
vagueness.' 

'  That's  what  I  like,'  agreed  Miss  Phyllis.  '  I 
like  something  left  to  the  imagination.' 

'  Your  approbation  encourages  me  to  persevere. 
I  had  planned  half-a-dozen  other  unconventional 
tales,  mere  trifles,  of  course,  as  slight  as  possible 
in  themselves,  but  enough  with  "  The  Parrot  that 
Talked  in  his  Sleep,"  and  "At  the  End  of  his 
Tether,"  to  make  a  little  book,  and  I  was  going  to 
call  it  "  Nightmare's  Nests."  ' 

'  What  an  appetising  title  ! '  declared  the  young 
lady.  '  I'm  so  sorry  it  is  not  published  now — I 
couldn't  rest  till  I'd  read  it.' 

'  Then  I  am  sure  of  selling  at  least  one  copy.' 

'  Oh,  I  should  expect  you  to  send  me  a  copy 
yourself,'  said  Miss  Phyllis  archly,  '  and  to  write 
"  with  the  compliments  of  the  author  "  on  the  first 
page.' 

Robert  White  looked  up  with  a  smile,  and  he 
caught  Miss  Phyllis's  eye.  He  noted  her  bright 
and  animated  expression.  He  thought  that  only 
once  before  had  he  ever  met  a  prettier  or  a  livelier 
girl. 

'  You  shall  have  an  early  copy,'  he  said,  '  a  set 
of  "  advance  sheets,"  as  the  phrase  is.' 

Here  his  attention  and  hers  was  distracted  by 
the  passing  of  a  wonderful  preparation  of  lobster 
served  in  sherry,  and  cooked  as  though  it  were 
terrapin  ;  this  was  a  speciality  of  the  Duchess's 


76  'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT1 

Virginian  cook,  and  was  not  to  be  treated  lightly 
When  this  delicacy  had  been  duly  considered,  Miss 
Phyllis  turned  to  him  again. 

'  Can't  you  tell  me  one  of  the  stories  you  are 
going  to  write  ?  '  she  asked. 

1  Here— now— at  table  ? ' 

'  Yes  ;  why  not  ? ' 

'  Do  you  play  chess  ?  I  mean  do  you  under- 
stand the  game  ? ' 

'  I  think  it  is  poky  ;  but  I  have  played  it  with 
grandpa.' 

'  There  is  a  tale  I  thought  of  writing,  to  be 
called  "The  Queen  of  the  Living  Chessmen"; 
but ' 

'  That's  a  splendid  title.     Go  on.' 

'  Are  you  sure  it  would  interest  you  ? '  asked 
the  author. 

'  I  can't  be  sure  until  you  begin,'  she  answered 
airily  ;  '  and  if  it  doesn't  interest  me,  I'll  change  the 
subject.' 

'  And  we  can  talk  about  the  weather.' 

'  Precisely.     And  now,  do  go  on  ! ' 

She  gave  an  imperious  nod,  which  White  could 
not  but  consider  charming.  There  was  no  lull  in 
the  general  conversation  around  the  table.  Mr. 
Martin  was  monopolising  Mrs.  Sutton's  attention, 
and  Mr.  C.  Mather  Hitchcock  had  at  last  got  into 
an  animated  discussion  with  the  lady  on  the  other 
side  of  him.  So  White  began. 

'  This,  then,  is  the  tale  of  "  The  Queen  of  the 
Living  Chessmen."  Once  upon  a  time ' 


'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT*  77 

'  I  do  like  stories  which  begin  with  "  Once  upon 
a  time," '  interrupted  Miss  Phyllis. 

'  So  far,  at  least,  then,  you  may  like  mine.  Once 
upon  a  time  there  was  a  young  English  surgeon  in 
India.  He  was  a  fine,  handsome,  manly  young 
fellow ' 

'  Light  or  dark  ? '  asked  the  young  lady.  '  That's 
a  very  important  question.  I  don't  take  half  the 
interest  in  a  hero  if  he  is  dark.' 

'Then  my  hero  shall  be  as  fair  as  a  young 
Saxon  ought  to  be.  Now,  on  his  way  out  to  India 
this  young  fellow  heard  a  great  deal  about  a  beau- 
tiful English  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  high  official  in 
the  service  of  John  Company ' 

'  Is  she  going  to  fall  in  love  with  him  ?  '  inter- 
rupted Miss  Phyllis  again. 

'  She  is.' 

'  Then  this  is  a  love-story  ? ' 

'  It  is  indeed,'  answered  the  author,  with  em- 
phasis. 

'Then  you  may  go  on,'  said  the  young  lady  ; 
4 1  think  it  will  interest  me.' 

And  White  continued  : 

'  The  young  doctor  had  heard  so  much  about 
her  beauty  that  he  was  burning  with  anxiety  to 
behold  her.  He  felt  as  though  the  first  time  he 
should  see  her  would  be  an  epoch  in  his  life.  He 
was  ready  to  love  her  at  first  sight.  But  when  he 
got  to  his  post  he  found  that  she  had  gone  to 
Calcutta  for  a  long  visit,  and  it  might  be  months 
before  she  returned.  He  possessed  his  soul  in 


78  <LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT1 

patience,  and  made  friends  with  her  father,  and  was 
permitted  to  inspect  a  miniature  of  her,  made  by 
the  best  artist  in  India.  This  portrait  more  than 
confirmed  the  tales  of  her  beauty.  The  sight  of 
her  picture  produced  a  strange  but  powerful  effect 
upon  the  doctor,  and  his  desire  to  see  the  fair 
original  redoubled.  From  Calcutta  came  rumours 
of  the  havoc  she  wrought  there  among  the  sus- 
ceptible hearts  of  the  English  exiles,  but  so  far  as 
rumour  could  tell  she  herself  was  still  heart-free. 
She  had  not  yet  found  the  man  of  her  choice  ;  and 
it  was  said  that  she  had  romantic  notions,  and 
would  marry  only  a  man  who  had  proved  himself 
worthy,  who  had,  in  short,  done  some  deed  of 
daring  or  determination  on  her  behalf.  The  young 
Englishman  listened  to  these  rumours  with  a  sink- 
ing of  the  heart,  for  he  had  no  hope  that  he  could 
ever  do  anything  to  deserve  her.  At  last  the  news 
came  that  she  was  about  to  return  to  her  father, 
and  at  the  same  time  came  an  order  to  the  doctor 
to  join  an  expedition  among  the  hill-tribes.  He 
called  on  her  father  before  he  went,  and  he  got  a 
long  look  at  her  miniature,  and  away  he  went  with 
a  heavy  heart  for  the  love  he  bore  a  woman  he  had 
never  seen.  No  sooner  had  his  party  set  off  than 
there  was  trouble  with  the  Hindoos.  The  British 
residents  and  the  native  princes  led  a  cat-and-dog 
life,  and  there  began  to  be  great  danger  of  civil 
war.  There  were  risings  in  various  parts  of  the 
country.' 

4  In  what  year  was  this  ?  ' 


'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT1  79 

'  I  don't  know  yet,'  answered  the  journalist. 
'  You  see  I  have  only  the  general  idea  of  the  story. 
I  shall  have  to  read  up  a  good  deal  to  get  the  his- 
torical facts  and  all  the  little  touches  of  local 
colour.  But  I  suppose  this  must  have  been  about 
a  hundred  years  ago  or  thereabouts.  Will  that 
do?' 

'  If  you  don't  know  when  your  story  happened,' 
said  Miss  Phyllis,  'of  course  you  can't  tell  me. 
But  go  on,  and  tell  me  all  you  do  know.' 

'  Well,  the  young  doctor  was  captured  by  a 
party  of  natives  and  taken  before  a  rajah,  or  what- 
ever they  call  him,  a  native  prince,  who  had  re- 
nounced his  semi-allegiance  to  the  British  and  who 
had  at  once  revealed  his  cruelty  and  rapacity.  In 
fact,  the  chief  into  whose  hands  the  young  surgeon 
had  fallen  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  blood- 
thirsty tyrant.  At  first  he  was  going  to  put  the 
doctor  to  death,  but  fortunately,  just  then,  one  of 
the  lights  of  the  harem  fell  ill  and  the  doctor 
cured  her.  So,  instead  of  being  killed,  he  was 
made  first  favourite  of  the  rajah.  He  had 
saved  his  life,  although  he  was  no  nearer  to  his 
liberty.' 

'Why,  wouldn't  the  rajah  let  him  go?'  asked 
Miss  Phyllis  with  interest. 

'  No,  he  wanted  to  keep  him.  He  had  found  it 
useful  to  have  a  physician  on  the  premises,  and  in 
future  he  never  meant  to  be  without  one.  After 
a  few  vain  appeals,  the  doctor  gave  up  asking  for 
his  liberty.  He  began  to  plan  an  escape  without 


8o  'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 

the  rajah's  leave.  One  evening  the  long-sought 
opportunity  arrived,  and  as  a  large  detachment  of 
English  prisoners  was  brought  into  town,  the  doctor 
slipped  out' 

'  Did  he  get  away  safely  ? ' 

'  You  shall  be  told  in  due  time.  Let  us  not 
anticipate,  as  the  story-tellers  say.  Did  I  tell  you 
that  the  rajah  had  found  out  that  the  doctor  played 
chess,  and  that  he  had  three  games  with  him  every 
night  ? ' 

'  This  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it,'  was  the 
young  lady's  answer. 

'  Such  was  the  fact.  And  this  it  was  which  led 
to  the  doctor's  recapture.  On  the  evening  of  his 
escape  the  rajah  wanted  his  chess  a  little  earlier, 
and  the  doctor  could  not  be  found  ;  so  they  scoured 
the  country  for  him,  and  brought  him  before  the 
prince,  who  bade  them  load  him  with  chains  and 
cast  him  into  a  dungeon  cell.' 

'  And  how  long  did  he  languish  there  ? ' 

'  Till  the  next  morning  only.  At  high  noon  he 
was  taken  out  and  the  chains  were  taken  off,  and 
he  was  led  into  a  spacious  balcony  overlooking  a 
great  court-yard.  This  court-yard  was  thronged 
with  people  and  the  sides  were  lined  with  soldiers. 
In  the"  centre  was  a  large  vacant  space.  This 
vacant  space  was  a  square  composed  of  many 
smaller  squares  of  alternating  black  and  white 
marble.  Unconsciously  the  doctor  counted  these 
smaller  squares;  there  were  exactly  sixty-four— 
eight  in  a  row  and  eight  rows.' 


*LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT'  8r 

'Just  as  though  it  was  a  huge  chess-board?' 
inquired  Miss  Phyllis. 

White  was  flattered  by  the  visible  interest  this 
pretty  girl  took  in  his  narrative. 

'  It  was  a  huge  chess-board,  nothing  else,'  he 
answered,  '  and  a  game  of  chess  was  about  to  be 
played  on  it  by  living  chess-men.  Soon  after  the 
doctor  was  brought  into  the  gallery,  there  was  a 
movement  in  the  outskirts  of  the  throng  below,  and 
four  elephants  came  in  and  took  their  places  at  the 
four  corners  of  the  gigantic  chess-board.  Two  of 
these  elephants  were  draped  with  white  and  two 
with  black,  and  their  howdahs  were  shaped  like 
castles.  Then  came  in  four  horsemen,  two  on 
white  steeds  and  two  on  black,  and  they  took  their 
places  next  to  the  castles.' 

'  They  were  the  knights  !  Oh,  how  romantic  ! ' 
ejaculated  the  young  lady. 

'  Next  came  four  fools  or  jesters,  for  in  the 
Oriental  game  of  chess  the  bishop  is  replaced  by  a 
clown.  Two  of  these  were  white  men  and  two 
were  Hindoos.  They  took  their  places  next  to  the 
knights.  Then  there  entered  two  files  of  eight 
soldiers,  and  the  eight  white  men  took  the  second 
row  on  one  side  while  the  eight  Hindoos  faced 
them  on  the  second  row  opposite.' 

'  They  were  the  pawns,  I  suppose  ? ' 

*  They  were  the  pawns.  The  doctor  now  began 
to  suspect  what  was  going  on,  and  he  saw  a  white 
man  and  a  Hindoo,  both  magnificently  caparisoned, 
and  with  tiny  pages  supporting  the  skirts  of  their 

G 


82  'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 

robes,  enter  the  square  allotted  to  the  kings. 
Finally  in  two  litters  or  sedan-chairs  the  two 
queens  were  borne  in  ;  the  doctor  saw  that  one 
was  a  white  woman  and  the  other  a  Hindoo,  but 
the  white  pieces  were  on  the  side  of  the  court 
opposite  him,  and  he  could  not  distinguish  the 
features  of  any  of  his  countrymen — for  that  they 
were  English  captives  he  felt  convinced.' 

'  But  who  was  to  play  the  game  ? '  asked  Miss 
Phyllis  eagerly. 

'  The  rajah  and  the  doctor.  The  rajah  came 
into  the  balcony  and  told  the  doctor  that  since  he 
wanted  to  get  away  he  might  have  a  chance  for 
his  life.  If  he  could  win  the  game,  the  rajah  would 
not  only  spare  his  life,  but  he  might  depart  in 
peace,  and  even  more,  he  might  select  from  the 
English  captives  any  one  he  chose  to  depart  with 
him.' 

'  But  if  he  lost  the  game  ?  ' 

'Then  he  lost  his  life.  For  the  doctor  that 
game  of  chess  with  the  living  chessmen  meant 
life  or  death.  But  the  sturdy  young  Englishman 
had  a  stout  heart  and  a  strong  head,  and  he  was 
not  frightened.  Although  he  had  generally 
managed  to  lose  when  playing  with  the  rajah,  he 
knew  that  he  played  a  finer  game.  He  knew, 
moreover,  that  although  the  rajah  was  a  despot  and 
a  bloody-minded  villain,  yet  he  would  keep  his 
word,  and  if  he  lost  the  game  the  doctor  would 
be  sent  away  in  safety  and  honour,  as  had  been 
promised.  So  the  doctor  planned  his  game  with 


*LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT1  83 

care  and  played  with  more  skill  than  the  rajah  had 
suspected  him  of  having.  After  half  a  dozen  moves 
there  was  an  exchange  of  pawns.  The  captured 
men  were  led  to  the  sides  of  the  court-yard,  and 
there  stood  an  executioner,  who  whipped  off  their 
heads  in  a  second.' 

'What!'  almost  shouted  Miss  Phyllis.  'Do 
you  mean  to  say  he  killed  them  ? ' 

'  The  living  chess-men,  white  or  black,  English 
or  Hindoo,  were  all  prisoners  and  had  all  been 
condemned  to  death.  The  rajah  was  using  them 
for  his  amusement  before  killing  them — that  was 
all.  As  soon  as  they  were  taken  in  the  course  of 
the  game,  they  were  no  longer  useful,  and  the 
headsman  did  his  work  upon  them  at  once.' 

'  You  don't  call  this  a  love-story,  do  you  ? '  was 
Miss  Phyllis's  indignant  query. 

'  You  shall  see.  When  the  doctor  saw  the  fate 
of  the  captured  pieces  he  almost  lost  his  self-control. 
But  he  was  a  brave  man,  and  in  a  little  while  he 
regained  courage.  An  attendant  explained  that 
these  men  would  die  anyhow,  and  in  time  the 
doctor  got  interested  in  the  game  and  intent  on 
saving  his  own  life,  and  he  ceased  to  think  about 
the  lives  of  the  hapless  human  chess-men.  And 
the  rajah  gave  him  enough  to  think  about.  The 
rajah,  having  nothing  at  stake,  and  knowing  it  was 
the  last  game  with  the  doctor,  played  with  unusual 
skill  and  success.  With  Oriental  irony  the  rajah 
had  chosen  the  white  pieces,  and  he  kept  sending 
the  white  queen  on  predatory  excursions  among 

G2 


84  ' LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT* 

the  black  chessmen.  The  doctor  saw  that  if  he 
did  not  take  the  white  queen  he  was  a  dead  man  ; 
so  he  laid  a  trap  for  her,  and  the  rajah  fell  into  the 
trap  and  sent  the  white  queen  close  to  the  black 
pieces,  taking  a  black  pawn.  For  the  first  time  the 
doctor  got  a  good  look  at  the  white  queen.  His 
heart  jumped  into  his  mouth  and  beat  so  loud  that 
he  thought  the  rajah  must  hear  it.  The  white  queen 
was.  the  beautiful  English  girl  of  whom  he  had 
thought  so  much  and  so  often,  and  whom  he  had 
never  seen.  He  knew  her  at  a  glance,  for  the  min- 
iature was  a  good  likeness,  though  it  could  not  do 
justice  to  her  wonderful  beauty  ;  it  was  indeed  fit 
that  she  should  be  robed  as  a  queen.  As  soon  as 
the  doctor  saw  her  he  felt  that  he  loved  her  with  the 
whole  force  of  his  being  ;  no  stroke  of  love  at  first 
sight  was  ever  more  sudden  or  more  irresistible.  For 
a  moment  love,  astonishment,  and  fear  made  him 
stand  motionless.' 

'  And  what  did  she  do  ? ' 

'  She  could  do  nothing.  And  what  could  he  do  ? 
It  was  a  tremendous  predicament.  If  he  captured 
the  white  queen,  she  would  be  killed  at  once.  If 
he  did  not  capture  her,  the  rajah  in  all  probability 
would  win  the  game — and  then  both  he  and  she 
would  have  to  die.  He  had  a  double  incentive  to 
win  the  game,  to  save  his  own  life  and  to  save  hers 
also,  by  selecting  her  as  the  one  to  accompany  him. 
But  the  game  became  doubly  difficult  to  win, 
because  he  dare  not  take  the  rajah's  most  powerful 
piece.  To  make  the  situation  more  hopeless,  the 


'•LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT'  85 

rajah,  seeing  that  the  doctor  let  him  withdraw  the 
queen  from  a  position  the  full  danger  of  which  he 
discovered  as  soon  as  the  move  was  made,  and 
detecting  the  signals  with  which  the  doctor  tried 
to  encourage  the  woman  he  loved,  and  to  bid  her 
be  of  good  cheer — the  rajah  began  to  count  on  the 
doctor's  unwillingness  to  take  the  white  queen  ;  he 
made  rash  raids  into  the  doctor's  intrenchments  and 
decimated  the  doctor's  slender  force.  In  half  an  hour 
the  game  looked  hopeless  for  the  young  English- 
man. Less  than  half  of  the  thirty- two  living  chess- 
men stood  upon  the  marble  squares,  and  of  these 
barely  a  third  belonged  to  the  doctor.  The  rajah  had 
the  advantage  in  numbers,  in  value,  and  in  position.' 

'  Then  how  did  the  doctor  get  out  of  it  ? ' 

'  The  rajah's  success  overcame  his  prudence, 
and  he  made  a  first  false  move.  The  doctor  saw 
a  slight  chance,  and  he  studied  it  out  as  though  it 
were  an  ordinary  end  game  or  a  problem.  Sud- 
denly the  solution  burst  upon  him.  In  three  swift 
moves  he  checkmated  the  astonished  rajah.' 

'  And  saved  his  own  life  and  hers  too  ?  '  asked 
the  young  lady,  with  great  interest. 

'  So  they  were  married  and  lived  happily  ever 
afterwards.  You  see  my  love  story  ends  as  you 
like  them  to  end.' 

'  It's  all  very  well,'  said  Miss  Phyllis,  '  but  the 
man  did  everything.  I  think  she  ought  to  have 
had  a  chance  too.' 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  there  had  been 
any  break  in  the  continuous  courses  of  Mrs, 


86  'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 

Martin's  delightful  dinner  while  White  was  telling 
the  tale  of '  The  Queen  of  the  Living  Chess-men.' 
In  fact,  he  was  unable  to  answer  this  last  remark 
of  Miss  Phyllis's  as  he  was  helping  himself  to  a 
delicious  mayonnaise  of  tomatoes,  another  speciality 
of  the  Duchess's,  who  always  served  it  as  a  self- 
respecting  mayonnaise  should  be  served — in  a  shal- 
low glass  dish  imbedded  in  the  cracked  ice  which 
filled  a  deeper  dish  of  silver.  So  the  young  lady 
had  a  chance  to  continue. 

'  I  do  not  object  to  the  bloodshed  and  murder 
and  horrors  in  your  story,  of  course.  I  don't  mean 
that  I  like  horrors,  as  some  girls  do,  but  I  am  not 
squeamish  about  them.  What  I  don't  like  is  your 
heroine  ;  she  doesn't  do  anything.' 

'  She  is  loved,'  answered  the  author  ;  '  is  not 
that  sufficient  ? ' 

'  You  say  she  is  loved,  but  how  do  I  know  that 
she  loves  back  ?  I  have  only  your  word  for  it ;  and 
you  are  a  man,  and  so,  of  course,  you  may  be 
mistaken  in  such  matters.' 

'  What  more  could  I  do  to  convince  you  of  her 
affection  for  her  lover  ? ' 

'  You  needn't  do  anything,  but  you  ought  to 
have  let  her  do  something.  I  don't  know  what, 
but  I  feel  she  ought  to  have  done  a  deed  of  some 
sort,  something  grand,  heroic,  noble, — something 
to  make  my  blood  run  cold  with  the  intensity  of 
my  admiration  !  I'd  like  to  see  her  sacrifice  her 
life  for  the  man  she  loves.' 

'  You  want  a  Jeanne  d'Arc  for  a  heroine  ? ' 


•LOVE  AT  FJRST  SIGHT1  87 

'  Rather  a  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  eager  to  love 
and  to  be  loved,  and  ready  to  do  and  to  die — a 
woman  with  an  active  spirit,  and  not  a  mere  pas- 
sive doll,  like  the  weak  girl  your  doctor  married.' 

Robert  White  remarked  that  her  slight  excite- 
ment had  heightened  her  colour,  and  that  the  flush 
was  very  becoming  to  her. 

'We  shall  have  to  go  back,'  he  said,  'to  the 
days  of  Rebecca  and  Rowena,  if  you  insist  on 
having  lissome  maidens  and  burly  warriors,  hurt- 
ling arrows  and  glinting  armour,  the  flash  of 
scarlet  and  the  blare  of  the  trumpet.' 

'  I  don't  think  so,'  she  retorted  ;  '  there  is 
heroism  in  modern  life,  and  in  plenty  too,  though 
it  goes  about  gravely  and  in  sad-coloured  gar- 
ments. And  besides,'  she  added,  changing  the 
subject  with  feminine  readiness,  '  you  tell  us  only 
about  the  peril  they  were  in,  and  nothing  at  all 
about  their  love-making.  Now,  that's  the  part  I 
like  best.  I  just  delight  in  a  good  love-scene.  I 
used  to  wade  through  Trollope's  interminable 
serials  just  for  the  sake  of  the  proposals.' 

'  It  is  never  too  early  to  mend.  I  will  take 
your  advice,  and  work  up  the  love  interest  more. 
I  will  show  how  it  was  that  the  young  English 
beauty  who  was  "  The  Queen  of  the  Living  Chess- 
men" came  in  time  and  by  slow  degrees  to  confess 
that  the  young  doctor  was  the  king  of  her  heart.' 

'  Then  I  will  read  it  with  even  more  pleasure/ 

'  But,  do  you  know,'  he  continued,  dropping  his 
mock-heroic  intonation,  'that  it  is  not  easy  to 


88  'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT' 

shoot  Cupid  on  the  wing?  Indeed,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  write  about  love-making.' 

'  From  lack  of  experience  ? '  inquired  Miss 
Phyllis  mischievously. 

'Precisely  so.  Now,  how  does  a  man  propose?' 
asked  White  innocently. 

The  flush  of  excitement  had  faded  before  this, 
but  suddenly  a  rich  blush  mantled  her  face  and 
neck.  For  a  second  she  hesitated ;  then  she  looked 
up  at  White  frankly,  and  said,  '  Don't  you  know  ? ' 

Under  her  direct  gaze  it  was  his  turn  to  flush 
up,  and  he  coloured  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

'  Pray  forgive  me  if  I  have  seemed  personal,'  he 
said,  '  but  I  had  supposed  a  young  lady's  oppor- 
tunities for  observation  were  so  many  more  than  a 
man's,  that  I  hoped  you  might  be  willing  to  help 
me.' 

'  I  think  that  perhaps  you  are  right,'  she  replied 
calmly,  « and  that  "  The  Queen  of  the  Living 
Chess-men  "  will  be  interesting  enough  without  any 
love-passages.' 

'  But  I  have  other  stories,'  he  rejoined  eagerly  ; 
'  there  is  one  in  particular, — it  is  a  love-story, 
simply  a  love-story.' 

'  That  will  be  very  nice  indeed,'  she  said  seri- 
ously, and  as  though  her  mind  had  been  recalled 
suddenly. 

'  I  am  going  to  call  it  "  Love  at  First  Sight." 
You  believe  in  love  at  first  sight,  don't  you  ? ' 

Again  the  quick  blush  crimsoned  her  face. 
'  I — I  don't  quite  know,'  she  answered. 


' LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT'  89 

'  I  thought  all  young  ladies  maintained  as  an 
article  of  faith,  without  which  there  could  be  no 
salvation,  that  love  at  first  sight  was  the  only 
genuine  love  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  know  what  other  girls  may  think,' 
said  Miss  Phyllis,  with  cold  dignity,  'but  I  have  no 
such  foolish  ideas  ! ' 

White  was  about  to  continue  the  conversation, 
and  to  ask  her  for  such  hints  as  she  might  be  able 
to  afford  him  toward  the  writing  of  '  Love  at  First 
Sight,'  when  the  Duchess  gave  the  signal  for  the 
departure  of  the  ladies.  As  Miss  Phyllis  rose 
White  fancied  that  he  caught  a  faint  sigh  of  relief, 
and  as  he  lifted  back  her  chair  he  wondered 
whether  he  had  been  in  any  way  intrusive.  She 
bowed  to  him  as  she  passed,  with  the  brilliant  smile 
which  was,  perhaps,  her  greatest  charm.  As  she  left 
the  room  his  eyes  followed  her  with  strange  interest. 
The  heavy  curtain  fell  behind  the  portly  back  of 
the  Duchess,  and  the  gentlemen  were  left  to  their 
coffee  and  to  their  cigars;  but  Mat  Hitchcock  took 
the  chair  next  to  White's,  and  began  at  once  to  talk 
about  himself  in  his  usual  effusive  manner.  The 
aroma  of  the  coffee  and  the  flavour  of  his  cigar 
were  thus  quite  spoilt  for  White,  who  seized  the 
first  opportunity  to  escape  from  Hitchcock  and  to 
join  the  ladies.  As  he  entered  the  spacious  parlour 
Hitchcock  captured  him  again,  and  although  White 
was  able  to  mitigate  the  infliction  by  including 
two  or  three  other  guests  in  the  conversation,  it 
was  not  until  the  party  began  to  break  up  that  he 


90  *LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT^ 

could  altogether  shake  off  the  incubus.  Then  he 
saw  Miss  Phyllis  just  gliding  out  of  the  door,  after 
having  bade  the  Duchess  a  fond  farewell. 

Robert  White  crossed  over  to  Mrs.  Martin  at 
once.  '  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  very  delightful 
evening,'  he  began.  'The  dinner  was  a  poem, —  if 
you  will  excuse  the  brutality  of  the  compliment, — 
and  the  company  were  worthy  of  it — with  one 
unworthy  exception,  of  course.' 

'Oh,  Mr.  White,  you  flatter  me,'  said  the  pleased 
Duchess. 

'  Indeed,  I  do  not.  Very  rarely  have  I  heard 
such  clever  talk ' 

'  Yes,'  interrupted  Mrs.  Martin.  '  I  do  like  the 
society  of  intellectual  people.' 

'  And,'  continued  White,  '  I  quite  lost  my  heart 
to  the  very  pretty  girl  I  took  in  to  dinner.' 

'  Isn't  she  charming  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Martin  en- 
thusiastically. '  I  think  she  is  the  nicest  girl  in 
New  York.' 

'  By  the  way — do  you  know,  I  did  not  quite 
catch  her  name ' 

'  Hadn't  you  ever  met  before  ?  Why,  she  is 
the  daughter  of  old  Judge  Van  Rensselaer.  You 
must  have  heard  me  talk  of  Baby  Van  Rensselaer, 
as  I  always  call  her?  She's  engaged  to  Delancey 
Jones,  you  know.  It's  just  out.  She  didn't  like 
him  at  first,  I  believe,  and  she  refused  him.  But 
he  offered  himself  again  just  after  we  all  got  back 
from  Europe  this  fall,  and  now  she's  desperately  in 
love  with  him.  Dear  Jones  would  have  been  here 


'LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT'  91 

to-night,  of  course,  but  he's  in  Boston  building  a 
flat,  so  I  put  you  in  his  seat  at  table.  You  know 
Dear  Jones,  don't  you  ? '  And  the  Duchess  paused 
for  a  reply. 

'Mr.  Jones  is  a  cousin  of  Miss  Sargent's,  I 
think '  began  White. 

'  Of  Miss  Dorothy  Sargent  ?  Of  course  he  is. 
Sam  Sargent  married  his  mother's  sister.  Dorothy's 
a  dear,  good  girl,  isn't  she  ?  Do  you  know  her  ? ' 

At  last  White  had  his  chance. 

1  She  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,'  he  said,  blushing 
slightly  ;  '  in  fact,  although  it  is  not  yet  announced 
generally,  I  do  not  mind  telling  you,  Mrs.  Martin, 
that  she's  engaged  to  be  married.' 

'  Dorothy  Sargent  engaged  to  be  married  ? ' 
cried  the  Duchess,  delighted  at  a  bit  of  matrimonial 
news.  '  And  to  whom  ? ' 

«  To  me,'  said  Robert  White. 


BRIEF— AS  WOMAN'S   LOVE 


BRIEF—AS  WOMAN'S  LOVE. 

THE  imperial  will  of  Napoleon  III.  decreed,  and 
the  ruthless  hand  of  Baron  Haussmann  traced,  a 
broad  street  to  connect  the  two  great  monuments 
of  the  histrionic  art  of  France — the  Comedie  Fran- 
^aise  and  the  Opera — and  the  resulting  Avenue  de 
1'Opera,  not  finished  until  long  after  the  Emperor 
and  the  Prefect  who  planned  it  had  fallen  from 
power  for  ever,  is  now  a  full  artery  of  finance  and 
of  fashion.  On  the  right  hand  side  of  this 
thoroughfare,  as  one  walks  from  the  home  of 
French  comedy  to  the  temple  of  French  music, 
and  not  far  from  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  there  is  a 
restaurant  called  the  Cafe  de  Paris ;  and  here  in 
a  private  room,  one  afternoon  early  in  June,  were 
gathered  three  Americans,  just  about  to  begin 
their  lunch.  They  had  fallen  into  the  French  habit 
of  getting  through  the  morning  with  no  other 
nourishment  than  a  roll  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  so  that 
they  were  wont  to  find  themselves  ready  for  a  more 
ample  mid-day  breakfast  shortly  after  twelve.  The 
low  ceiling  of  the  entresol  seemed  to  make  the  room • 
in  which  they  sat  smaller  than  it  was  in  reality ; 
but  there  was  ample  space  for  the  fourth  member 


96  BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE 

of  the  party,  for  whom  they  were  then  waiting. 
The  melon  was  on  the  table,  and  the  sole  a  la 
Mornay — a  speciality  of  the  Cafe  de  Paris — had 
been  ordered,  but  still  Dr.  Cheever  did  not  come. 

Mr.  Laurence  Laughton  crossed  over  to  the 
window  by  Mrs.  Rudolph  Vernon.  '  I  hope  you  are 
not  very  hungry  ? '  he  said. 

4  But  I  am,'  she  answered  ;  '  I  am  famished.' 

'  So  am  I,'  added  her  husband. 

'  Your  conduct  is  unreasonable,  and  your  feel- 
ings are  reprehensible,'  retorted  Mr.  Laughton. 
'  As  a  lady,  Mrs.  Vernon  has  no  right  to  an 
appetite ;  and  as  a  poet,  Mr.  Vernon  should  scorn 
the  gross  joys  of  the  table.' 

'  The  idea  ! '  answered  Mrs.  Vernon.  '  Just  as 
if  a  woman  could  live  on  air  !  Why,  Uncle  Larry, 
I  am  hungry  enough  to  eat  you.' 

Uncle  Larry  arose  quietly,  and  slyly  put  the 
table  between  himself  and  the  young  lady  who  had 
thus  proclaimed  her  cannibalistic  capacity.  But 
this  movement  brought  him  close  to  her  husband, 
who  seized  the  opportunity. 

'  I  say,  Laughton,'  he  began, '  it  is  all  very  well 
to  be  a  poet,  but  I  am  a  practical  man  too,  and  as 
a  practical  man  I  am  simply  starving.' 

'  Well,'  said  Uncle  Larry, 'you  will  enjoy  that 
sole  a  la  Mornay  all  the  more.  If  it  is  as  good  now 
as  it  was  last  year,  it  is  a  poem,  and  it  is  worthy 
to  be  embalmed  in  verse.  I  believe  that  is  the 
phrase  they  use,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

'And  it's  a  disgusting  expression  too,  I  say,' 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  97 

interposed  Mrs.  Vernon.  '  I  don't  like  to  think  of 
Rudolph  as  an  undertaker.  It's  bad  enough  to 
have  a  doctor  for  a  brother.' 

'  By  the  way,  my  dear,'  interrupted  her  husband, 
'  are  you  sure  that  you  told  the  doctor  to  meet  us 
here  ? ' 

'  Of  course  I  am,'  she  answered.  '  He  went  to 
the  banker's  for  letters  from  home  while  I  was 
putting  on  my  hat  to  go  out,  and  he  sent  back  a 
message  to  say  that  he  had  business,  and  couldn't 
go  to  the  Salon  with  us,  and  I  told  the  messenger 
to  tell  him  to  meet  us  here  to  lunch  at  one  o'clock.' 

'  And  it  is  now  nearly  half-past,'  said  Rudolph 
Vernon,  looking  at  his  watch. 

'  Suppose  we  don't  wait  for  him  ? '  suggested 
Mrs.  Vernon.  '  You  know,  Rudolph,  that  if  you 
go  without  food  it  upsets  you  dreadfully.' 

'  Well,'  said  Uncle  Larry,  *  I  confess  I  heard 
the  dumb  dinner-bell  of  hunger  some  time  ago.' 

'Dumb  dinner-bell  of  hunger?'  repeated  the 
poet,  thoughtfully.  'It  is  a  neat  figure,  but 
scarcely  sufficiently  dignified  for  use — except,  per- 
haps, in  comic  verse.' 

'  I  should  think  you  would  find  the  pictures  in 
the  Salon  very  valuable  to  you,'  ventured  Uncle 
Larry.  '  And  it  is  a  pity  that  the  doctor  did  not 
get  there  this  morning.  Some  of  the  paintings 
might  have  been  useful  to  him — as  studies  in  ana- 
tomy.' 

'  They  were  very  indelicate,  I  thought,'  said 
Mrs.  Vernon. 


98  BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE 

'  But  I  get  ideas  from  them,'  continued  her 
poet-husband.  '  I  took  notes  for  two  first-rate 
sonnets.' 

'  I  saw  one  picture  which  suggested  a  poem  to 
me/  remarked  Uncle  Larry,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

'  Indeed  ?  '  queried  Mr.  Rudolph  Vernon. 

*  It  was  one  of  Henner's,  and  it  was  just  like  all 
the  other  Henners  I  ever  saw.  It  represented  a 
young  lady — before  the  bath.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  a  perfect  illustration  of  the  nursery  rhyme  : 

'  Oh,  mother,  may  I  go  in  and  swim  ? ' 

'  Oh  yes,  my  darling  daughter  : 
Just  hang  your  clothes  on  a  hickory  limb, 

And  do  not  go  near  the  water.' 

'  How  absurd  ! '  laughed  Mrs.  Vernon. 

'  Well/  said  Uncle  Larry,  '  it  may  be  absurd, 
but  it  is  singularly  exact.  Henner's  nymphs  have 
always  hung  their  clothes  up,  but  they  never  are  in 
the  water.  Now  I  believe  that ' 

But  Uncle  Larry's  artistic  creed  was  cut  short 
by  the  entrance  of  Dr.  Cheever. 

'  I  hope  you  have  not  waited  for  me  ? '  he  be- 
gan, in  a  deep,  grave  voice  befitting  a  physician  of 
his  wisdom  and  reputation. 

'  But  we  have  ! '  cried  his  sister.  '  Whatever 
did  keep  you  so  long  ? ' 

'  I  was  called  out  unexpectedly/  he  answered 
quietly,  '  and  the  case  proved  more  important  than 
I  had  supposed.'  Something  in  his  manner 
warned  his  sister  not  to  press  him  further  with 
questions. 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  99 

'  Now  you  are  here,'  said  Uncle  Larry,  '  we 
will  proceed  with. our  breakfast-at-the-fork,  as  the 
French  call  it.' 

'  Do  you  think  melon  is  wholesome  to  begin  a 
meal  with  ? '  asked  Vernon. 

'Why  not?'  answered  the  doctor.  'The 
French  eat  it  then,  and  they  are  not  as  dyspeptic 
as  we  are.' 

'  The  French  don't  eat  pie  ! '  said  Uncle  Larry, 
laconically.  '  We  do.  In  fact,  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  the  typical  American  might  be  de- 
fined as  a  travelling  interrogation-mark  with  the 
dyspepsia.' 

'  I  wonder,'  remarked  the  doctor,  as  the  waiter 
removed  the  melon  and  brought  in  the  sole  d  la 
Mornay — 'I  wonder  that  nobody  has  ever  at- 
tempted to  explain  "  Hamlet "  by  the  suggestion 
that  the  young  Prince  Hamlet  has  acute  chronic 
dyspepsia.' 

'  By  the  way,  Uncle  Larry,'  asked  Mrs.  Vernon, 
'  you  never  told  me  how  you  liked  "  Hamlet "  at 
the  OpeYa  last  night  ?  ' 

'  Well,'  said  Uncle  Larry,  '  a  Hamlet  who  is  a 
Frenchman  and  who  sings,  is  to  me  the  abomina- 
tion of  desolation.  But  it  is  such  a  great  play  that 
even  French  singing  cannot  spoil  it.' 

'  The  construction  of  the  last  act  is  very  feeble,' 
remarked  the  professional  poet,  critically. 

'  Very  violent,  you  mean,'  suggested  his  wife. 

'  In  art,  violence  is  feebleness.  And  the  fifth 
act  of  "  Hamlet  "  is  the  acme  of  turbulent  muddle; 


TOO  BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE 

Uncle  Larry  and  Dr.  Cheever  exchanged  quick 
glances  as  Vernon  continued  : 

'  I  do  not  deny  that  it  is  a  great  play,  a  pro- 
phetic play  even,  and  deeply  philosophical.  In- 
deed, nowhere  is  the  Weltschmerz  and  the  Zeitgeist 
more  plainly  voiced  than  in  "  Hamlet "  ;  but,  for  all 
that,  the  construction  of  the  last  act  is  grossly  in- 
artistic.' 

'  The  idea  of  Ophelia's  singing  as  she  floats 
down  the  river  is  absurd,'  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  sup- 
porting her  husband  and  remembering  more  accu- 
rately the  opera  of  M.  Ambroise  Thomas  than  the 
tragedy  of  William  Shakspere. 

'  People  talk  about  Shakspere's  greatness,'  con- 
tinued Rudolph  Vernon,  '  and  he  was  great ;  but 
look  at  the  chance  he  had.  He  came  in  the  nick 
of  time,  when  men  and  women  had  passions,  and 
before  all  the  words  were  worn  out.  I'd  like  to 
see  what  Shakspere  would  do  now,  when  men 
and  women  have  milk  in  their  veins  instead 
of  blood,  and  when  nearly  all  the  fine  words  in  the 
language  are  second-hand.' 

'  You  do  not  believe  in  a  modern  Hamlet, 
then  ? '  asked  Dr.  Cheever. 

'  No  ;  nor  in  a  modern  Ophelia.  Women  do 
not  go  mad  and  drown  themselves  nowadays.  If 
they  are  jilted  by  Hamlet  they  marry  Guildenstern 
or  Rosencrantz,  or,  better  yet,  young  Fortinbras.' 

'  Oh,  Rudolph,  how  can  you  be  so  unjust ! ' 
was  his  wife's  protest.  '  I  am  sure  that  women 
love  with  as  much  passion  and  self-sacrifice  as 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  101 

ever.  Why,  at  Madame  Parlier's  Institute  for 
Young  Ladies  I  knew  two  or  three  girls  quite 
capable  of  loving  as  Juliet  did,  and  of  dying  like 
Juliet.' 

'You  are  fortunate  in  your  acquaintance,' 
answered  her  husband,  '  more  fortunate  by  far  than 
I,  for  I  do  not  know  any  Romeo.' 

'  Man's  love  to-day  has  more  common-sense,' 
Dr.  Cheever  suggested. 

'  Exactly,  more  common-sense,  and  therefore 
less  passion,  and  a  smaller  possibility  of  tragedy. 
Shakspere  had  the  inside  track,  and  it  is  no  use  for 
us  modern  poets  to  hope  to  equal  him.' 

'  I  like  to  think  about  the  fatality  of  love,  and 
I  hate  to  hear  you  say  that  there  are  no  Romeos 
in  our  time,'  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  '  It  seems  to  take 
the  romance  out  of  life.' 

'  But  there  isn't  any  romance  in  life  any  longer,' 
rejoined  her  husband  ;  '  that's  my  contention.  We 
have  and  we  can  have  no  Hamlet,  no  Ophelia,  no 
Juliet — especially  no  Romeo.' 

Uncle  Larry  laughed,  and  suggested  : 

'  You  think  a  modern  lover  more  likely  to  take 
pepsin  pills  than  a  deadly  poison  ?  ' 

'  I  do  indeed,'  was  the  poet's  answer.  Man 
now  thinks  more  of  his  stomach  than  of  his  heart, 
and  where  is  the  poetry  in  indigestion,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  ' 

'  Well,  I  don't  know,'  said  Uncle  Larry,  as  the 
smile  faded  from  his  face.  '  I  believe  in  the  fatality 
of  love  even  in  the  nineteenth  century.  I  have  seen 


102  BRIEF-AS   WOMAWS  LOVE 

one  man  in  love  with  a  passion  as  profound  as  any 
Romeo's,  and  his  end  was  as  tragic.' 

'  Then  he  was  a  man  born  out  of  time,'  urged 
Rudolph  Vernon. 

'  That  may  be,'  answered  Uncle  Larry.  '  He 
was  a  man  born  to  sorrow,  and  yet  he  had  the 
happiest  nature  and  the  largest  heart  of  any  man 
I  ever  knew.' 

'  Is  he  dead  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Vernon  with  a 
woman's  sympathy.  '  When  did  he  die  ?  ' 

'  It  is  nearly  two  years  since  I  read  the  sudden 
news  of  his  death  one  summer  afternoon.  It  is 
two  years,  and  yet  he  has  been  in  my  mind  all  the 
morning.  It  may  be  because  I  found  his  last 
letter  to  me  yesterday  in  my  portfolio,  and  I  had 
to  read  it  again.  So  to-day  I  seem  to  see  his  pale 
handsome  face  and  his  bright  dark  eyes.  He  had 
the  nobility  of  soul  which  makes  the  true  hero  of 
tragedy.' 

'  But  there  is  no  tragedy  to-day,  as  there  is  no 
comedy,'  argued  Rudolph  Vernon.  '  Instead,  we 
have  only  la  tragedie  bourgeoise  and  la  comtdie  lar- 
moyante! 

1 1  do  not  think  you  would  say  that  if  you 
knew  his  story — the  story  of  his  heart  and  the 
cause  of  its  breaking,'  replied  Laurence  Laughton. 
'To  me  that  is  as  tragic  as  anything  that  ever 
happened.' 

'  I  do  not  doubt  that,'  retorted  Vernon,  hastily. 
'  The  story  of  your  friend's  broken  heart  may  be 
as  tragic  as  anything  that  ever  happened',  but  in 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  103 

real  life  little  or  nothing  happens  in  the  way  it 
ought  to  happen  artistically.' 

'  That  was  Balzac's  theory,'  said  Dr.  Cheever, 
in  his  deep  voice. 

'  You  remind  one  of  the  French  painter  Boucher, 
was  it,  or  Watteau,  who  complained  that  nature 
put  him  out,'  said  Uncle  Larry. 

'  Balzac's  or  Boucher's,  the  theory  is  sound  for 
all  that,'  contended  the  poet.  '  In  real  life  we 
have  only  the  raw  material,  and  it  is  crude  and 
harsh,  and  it  has  no  beginning  and  no  end— in  an 
artistic  sense,  I  mean.  It  is  wholly  lacking  in 
symmetry  and  proportion.  And  as  modern  real 
life  is  nearest  to  us,  it  is  the  least  artistic  and  the 
most  unfinished.' 

'  Tell  him  your  story,  Mr.  Laughton,  and  con- 
fute him  on  the  spot,'  suggested  the  doctor. 

1  Yes,  do  tell  us,  Uncle  Larry,'  said  Mrs.  Vernon  ; 
'  and  then,  if  it  really  is  tragic,  you  know,  why, 
perhaps  Rudolph  can  use  it  in  a  poem  after  all.' 

'  I'm  open  to  conviction,  of  course,'  admitted 
Vernon,  '  and  I'd  like  to  hear  about  your  friend's 
taking  off,  but  I  am  free  to  say  that  I  do  not 
believe  it  is  a  rounded  and  harmonious  whole.  As 
I  said,  in  real  life  we  can  get  of  necessity  only 
fragments  out  of  a  man's  life,  and  a  cross  section  of 
a  fragment  is  not  art.' 

Laurence  Laughton  hesitated  a  moment.  The 
waiter  brought  in  the  coffee,  and  the  gentlemen 
lighted  their  cigars. 

'  It  seems  almost  like  sacrilege  to  the  dead  to 


104  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN1  S  LOVE 

tell  Ralph  De  Witt's  story  merely  to  prove  a 
point,'  Laughton  began,  taking  a  sharp  pull  at  his 
tiny  cigar.  '  But  it  will  free  my  mind  to  tell  the 
tale,  and  it  gives  me  occasion  to  speak  well  of  him. 
He  was  the  son  of  an  old  friend  who  had  been 
very  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  tried  to 
pay  to  the  son  the  debt  of  gratitude  due  to  the 
father.  His  mother  died  when  he  was  born,  and 
as  an  only  child  his  father  gave  him  a  double  share 
of  love,  for  himself  and  for  his  mother.  But  when 
he  was  only  seven  years  old  the  battle  of  Gettys- 
burg was  fought,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  De  Witt 
took  command  of  our  regiment  after  Colonel  De- 
lancey  Jones  had  been  killed  in  the  first  day's 
fight.  As  we  pressed  forward  to  repel  Pickett's 
charge,  De  Witt  fell  from  his  horse,  mortally 
wounded.  He  took  my  hand  as  I  bent  over  him, 
and  said,  "  Take  care  of  Ralph."  The  boy  was 
his  last  thought,  and  those  were  his  last  words. 
He  had  left  a  will  appointing  me  the  boy's 
guardian,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  ever  did 
guardian  and  ward  get  on  better  together  than 
Ralph  and  I.  He  was  a  bright  boy,  strong,  whole- 
some, manly — a  true  boy,  as  he  was  to  be  a  true 
man.  He  worshipped  the  memory  of  his  father, 
and  in  remembrance  of  his  father's  death  he 
wanted  to  be  a  soldier.  At  a  competitive  ex- 
amination he  won  his  appointment  to  a  cadetship 
at  West  Point.  He  enjoyed  his  four  years  of 
hard  work  there,  and  he  was  graduated  first  in  his 


BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE  105 

class,  going  into  the  Engineers  at  once  as  a  second 
lieutenant.  Side  by  side  with  his  enthusiasm  for 
the  soldier's  calling  lay  a  strong  interest  in  science, 
and  in  getting  into  the  Engineers  he  had  accom- 
plished the  utmost  of  his  hopes.  He  had  been  a 
happy  boy  ;  he  had  passed  four  happy  years  at 
West  Point ;  and  he  began  life  with  the  prospect 
of  happiness  full  before  him.' 

As  Laughton  paused  to  light  his  cigar,  which 
he  had  suffered  to  go  out,  Mrs.  Vernon  interjected, 
'  Why,  you  said  it  was  to  be  a  tragedy,  but  it  begins 
like  a  comedy.  I  can  almost  hear  wedding  bells 
in  the  distance.' 

'  Where  is  the  heroine  of  your  tragedy  ? '  asked 
Vernon. 

'  Well,'  said  Uncle  Larry,  inhaling  a  mouthful 
of  smoke,  '  the  heroine  is  at  hand.' 

'  I  am  glad  of  that,'  remarked  Mrs.  Vernon, 
soaking  a  lump  of  sugar  in  her  coffee-spoon.  '  I 
don't  like  stories  of  men  only  ;  I  want  to  hear 
about  a  woman.' 

'  I  do  not  think  you  will  like  the  woman  when 
you  hear  about  her,'  answered  Laughton. 

'  Why,  was  she  ugly  ? '  asked  the  lady. 

'  No  ;  she  was  almost  the  most  beautiful  woman 
I  ever  saw  ;  and  I  have  heard  you  say  that  she  was 
beautiful.' 

'  Why,  Uncle  Larry,  have  I  ever  seen  her  ? ' 
inquired  Mrs.  Vernon,  eagerly.  '  When  was  it  ? 
and  where  ? ' 


icS  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

'  You  have  seen  her,  but  you  do  not  know  her,' 
answered  Laughton. 

'  Oh,  how  mysterious  !  Now  go  on  and  tell  me 
all  about  it,  and  where  your  friend  met  her,  and 
what  happened.'  And  Mrs.  Vernon  lifted  her 
lump  of  sugar  to  her  lips  and  settled  back  on  the 
divan  which  ran  along  one  wall  of  the  little  room. 

'  Ralph  De  Witt  got  leave  of  absence  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  summer  of  1881,  and  he  came 
East  for  a  change.  Some  friends  were  going  to 
Mount  Desert,  and  he  joined  them  in  a  trip  to  that 
fascinating  summer  school  of  philosophy.  His 
friends  went  away  after  a  week,  but  he  stayed  on. 
The  Duchess  of  Washington  Square — you  know 
Mrs.  Martin,  of  course  ? '  And  Laughton  paused 
for  an  answer. 

'  Oh  dear,  yes,'  laughed  Mrs.  Vernon.  '  Every- 
body knows  the  Duchess.' 

'  Then  you  know  that  she  is  a  born  match- 
maker ? ' 

'  Indeed  I  do !  Why,  it  was  she  who  intro- 
duced Rudolph  to  me.  The  dear  old  soul!' 
answered  Mrs.  Vernon. 

'  Well,'  said  Uncle  Larry,  '  then  you  will  not  be 
surprised  to  be  told  that  she  seized  on  Ralph  De 
Witt  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  and  insisted  on  intro- 
ducing him  to  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  Mount 
Desert.' 

'  What  was  her  name  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Vernon, 
innocently. 

'  Her  name  was  Sibylla/ 


BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE  107 

1  Sibylla  ?  That  does  not  help  me  out.  1 
never  heard  of  a  Sibylla.  Did  you  ? '  asked  Mrs. 
Vernon,  turning  to  Dr.  Cheever. 

'  I  have  met  a  lady  of  that  name — quite  re- 
cently/ answered  the  doctor,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  a  certain  significance  in  his  tone. 

'  What  was  she  like  ?  '  queried  the  poet. 

'  I'm  not  a  good  hand  at  an  inventory  of  a 
woman's  charms,  but  I'll  do  it  as  well  as  I  can. 
She  was  a  blonde  with  dark  eyes.  Her  face  was 
absolutely  perfect  in  its  Greek  purity  and  regu- 
larity. Her  neck  and  arms  were  worthy  of  the 
hand  of  Phidias  or  Praxiteles  ;  and,  magnificent  as 
she  seemed,  she  had  a  certain  marble  statuesque- 
ness  which  makes  the  allusion  even  more '  exact 
than  it  is  complimentary.  In  fact,  she  was  not  a 
woman  one  could  compliment  on  her  looks,  for  her 
beauty  was  of  so  high  an  order  that  all  praise 
seemed  inadequate  and  paltry.  I  heard  Mat 
Hitchcock  once  say  that  she  walked  like  a  god- 
dess and  danced  like  an  angel.' 

'  And  where  did  this  paragon  of  perfection  come 
from  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Vernon  unenthusiastically. 

'  From  a  little  town  in  the  interior  of  New  York. 
Her  parents  were  poor,  and  they  had  stinted  them- 
selves to  send  her  to  a  fashionable  school  in  New 
York.  Then  she  had  rich  relatives,  and  it  was  a 
wealthy  aunt  who  had  taken  her  to  Mount  Desert.' 

'  And  your  friend  Ralph  De  Witt  was  'the 
Pygmalion  who  sought  to  warm  this  cold  beauty 
into  life  ? '  This  was  the  question  of  the  poet. 


io8  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

'  Yes,'  answered  Uncle  Larry  ;  '  he  fell  in  love 
with  her  the  instant  he  laid  eyes  on  her,  and  to 
him  love  was  no  plaything  or  pastime  ;  it  was  a 
passion  to  endure  till  death.  After  three  brief 
weeks  of  delight  in  her  presence,  Ralph  had  to  go 
back  to  his  post.  He  left  a  throng  of  other  ad- 
mirers around  her,  and  he  had  had  no  chance  to 
tell  her  of  his  love.  To  her  their  slight  intimacy 
was  nothing  more  than  a  summer  flirtation  ; 
to  him  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  He 
returned  to  his  work,  thinking  that  she  did  not 
care  for  him,  and  he  toiled  hard  to  see  if  he  could 
not  forget,  or  at  least  forego  her.  But  it  was  no 
use.  At  Christmas  he  gave  it  up,  and  ran  over  to 
New  York  to  see  her.  She  was  away  in  the  country, 
but  she  came  back  the  last  day  of  the  year,  and  he 
went  to  wish  her  a  happy  New  Year.  Cupid 
sometimes  pays  a  New- Year's  call,  although  call- 
ing has  gone  out  of  fashion  in  New  York  ;  and 
Ralph  De  Witt  came  to  me  after  he  left  her,  with 
a  glow  in  his  face  and  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  told 
me  he  had  hope.  How  handsome  he  was  as  he 
stood  in  my  study,  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  telling 
me  the  desire  of  his  heart !  What  a  fine,  manly 
fellow  he  was  !  Perhaps  she  had  seen  this  ;  per- 
haps she  had  caught  from  him  the  contagion  of 
emotion  ;  perhaps  she  had  really  recognised  and 
respected  the  depth  and  the  nobility  of  his  nature, 
and  the  strength  of  his  passion.  The  next  day  he 
saw  her  again  for  a  few  minutes  only,  but  they 
were  enough  for  him  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  and 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  log 

for  her  to  accept  him  as  her  future  husband.  They 
agreed  that  the  engagement  should  not  be  an- 
nounced, for  he  would  not  be  with  her  again  for 
months,  and  as  an  engaged  girl  she  would  not  have 
so  good  a  time.' 

'Well!'  interrupted  Mrs.  Vernon,  'she  was 
frank,  at  all  events.' 

'  She  jilted  him,  I  suppose  ? '  asked  Rudolph 
Vernon. 

'  She  married  him,'  answered  Uncle  Larry, 
calmly. 

Dr.  Cheever  looked  up  with  a  glance  of  sur- 
prise and  said  :  '  She  married  him  ?  Sibylla  mar- 
ried Ralph  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  ' 

'  I  am  quite  sure.' 

'  I  did  not  know  that,'  replied  the  doctor,  re- 
suming his  attitude  of  silent  attention. 

'  I  didn't  know  you  knew  anything  at  all  about 
it,'  said  the  doctor's  sister.  'At  least  you  never 
told  me  anything.' 

Dr.  Cheever  smiled  gravely  and  said  nothing. 
Uncle  Larry  continued  : 

'  Early  in  the  spring  Ralph  De  Witt  received  an 
appointment  he  had  long  wished.  He  was  de- 
tailed to  take  charge  of  a  special  survey  of  the 
canons  of  the  Colorado  River,  a  task  which  would 
take  him  several  summers,  while  his  winters  would 
be  employed  in  working  up  the  observations  made 
during  the  warm-  weather.  He  wrote  to  me  that 
the  Department  would  allow  him  to  do  this  winter 
work  either  in  Washington  or  at  Newport.' 


i io  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

'  I  think  Newport  is  just  as  pleasant  in  winter 
as  itns  in  summer,'  said  Mrs.  Vernon. 

'  Ralph  thought  so  too/  answered  Laurence 
Laughton,  'and  he  knew  that  Sibylla  was  fond 
of  Newport — as  she  was  of  everything  rich  and 
fashionable.  Late  in  the  spring  he  came  to  New 
York.  He  had  ten  days  to  make  ready  for  his 
long  summer  in  the  midst  of  the  marvels  of  the 
West.  He  came  here  with  a  fixed  idea— to  get 
her  to  marry  him  before  he  went  away  to  his 
work.  You  see,  he  loved  her  so  much  that  his 
heart  sank  at  the  fear  of  losing  her.  He  trusted 
her,  but  he  wanted  to  make  sure.  All  he  wished 
was  to  have  her  bound  to  him  firmly.  How  he 
got  her  consent  I  cannot  imagine,  but  I  suppose 
the  hot  fire  of  his  manly  love  must  have  thawed 
her  icy  heart.  He  succeeded  somehow  or  other, 
and  the  morning  of  his  last  day  in  New  York  he 
came  to  me  and  told  me  that  she  had  promised  to 
slip  out  with  him  that  afternoon  to  old  Dr.  Van 
Zandt's  to  be  married  quietly  at  the  rectory.  No 
one  was  to  know  of  this.  It  was,  in  fact,  to  be 
only  a  legal  confirmation  or  ratification  of  their 
engagement.  The  wedding,  to  which  all  the  world 
would  be  invited,  was  fixed  for  the  following 
December.' 

'  And  so  they  were  married  privately  ? '  asked 
Mrs.  Vernon. 

'  Yes.  I  was  standing  on  rrl'y  doorstep,  bask- 
ing in  the  pleasant  sunshine  of  a  beautiful  after- 
noon in  May,  as  Ralph  De  Witt  came  up  the  steps, 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  in 

as  radiantly  happy  as  ever  man  was.  "  Uncle 
Larry,"  said  he,  as  he  wrung  my  hand  with  a  grip 
of  steel,  "  I  have  been  married  nearly  half  an  hour." 
"  Where's  the  bride  ?  "  I  asked.  "  She  has  gone 
home  to  dress  fora  swell  dinner  to-night.  I've  said 
good-bye  to  her.  I  sha'n't  see  her  again  for  nearly 
six  months.  But  I  do  not  mind  the  parting  now, 
for  she  is  mine— mine  by  the  law  and  the  gospel. 
Uncle  Larry,  come  to  Delmonico's  and  dine  with 
me  ;  I'll  treat.  Let's  have  a  wedding  feast."  We 
had  our  dinner,  and  I  let  him  talk  about  her  through 
the  long  spring  evening,  as  we  walked  up  and  down 
Fifth  Avenue.  He  poured  out  his  heart  to  me. 
There  never  was  a  man  so  happy  or  so  miserable. 
He  had  married  her,  but  he  had  to  leave  her  almost 
at  the  steps  of  the  altar.  The  parting  was  painful, 
but  he  was  full  of  hope  and  heart,  and  he  trusted 
her.  To  hear  him  talk  about  her  would  have  made 
you  think  that  there  was  only  one  woman  in  the 
whole  wide  world,  and  that  there  never  had  been 
her  equal.  Romeo  was  not  more  rhapsodic,  nor 
was  Juliet  more  beautiful  than  she,  though  the  fair 
maid  of  Verona  had  the  advantage  of  a  warm 
heart,  which  Sibylla  lacked.  He  told  me  his 
dreams  and  his  plans.  He  had  a  share  in  a  mine 
in  Colorado,  and  he  was  perfecting  a  new  process 
for  reducing  ore,  a  patent  for  which  he  expected 
in  a  few  days.  These  were  in  the  future.  For  the 
present  he  had  his  pay  and  allowances  and  the 
income  of  the  little  property  his  mother  had  left, 
and  these  together  were  enough  for  them  to  live  on. 


112  BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE 

He  had  had  an  unexpected  legacy  from  an  uncle; 
and  of  this  he  had  said  nothing  to  Sibylla,  for  he 
wished  to  surprise  her  with  the  tiny  little  cottage 
he  meant  to  buy  her  in  the  outskirts  of  Newport. 
There  they  would  live  together  and  be  happy  in 
the  winter  ;  while  in  the  summer,  while  he  was 
away  at  his  field-work,  she  was  to  invite  her  mother 
and  her  sister  to  bear  her  company.  Now  I  knew 
her  mother,  and  I  knew  she  had  no  heart,  but  only 
a  hard  ambition  in  the  place'  where  the  heart 
ought  to  be.  I  thought  the  less  Sibylla  had  to  do 
with  her  mother,  the  better  for  Ralph's  chance  of 
happiness.  But  I  said  nothing.  I  never  had  hinted 
a  doubt  of  the  girl,  and,  in  fact,  all  my  doubts  had 
been  killed  by  the  wedding.  I  never  even  told  him 
he  had  better  make  the  best  showing  he  could  be- 
fore her.  And  I  have  often  wondered  whether  the 
end  would  have  been  different  if  he  had  told  her 
of  the  house  at  Newport.  But  I  said  nothing ;  I 
let  him  talk,  and  he  talked  of  her,  and  of  her  only, 
until  at  last  I  lost  sight  of  him  as  he  stood  on  the 
platform  of  the  sleeping-car  of  the  Pacific  express. 
I  watched  the  train  out  of  the  station,  and  I  have 
never  seen  Ralph  De  Witt  again  from  that  day  to 
this — at  least,  I  think  not.' 

At  this  last  remark,  added  in  a  lower  tone,  Dr. 
Cheever  shot  a  quick  glance  of  interest  at  the 
speaker.  He  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  as 
though  he  was  about  to  say  something,  but  appa- 
rently he  thought  better  of  it,  and  he  returned  the 
cigar  to  his  lips  silently. 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  113 

It  was  Rudolph  Vernon  who  spoke  :  '  I  can't 
say  that  I  see  anything  tragic  in  your  story  yet,  or 
even  any  elements  of  a  possible  tragedy.  But  go 
on  —  say  your  say  out.  I  will  reserve  criticism 
until  you  have  told  the  tale.' 

'  Yes,  go  on,  Uncle  Larry.  What  happened  ?  ' 
asked  Mrs.  Vernon. 

'  For  several  months  nothing  happened.  I  had 
a  letter  now  and  again  from  Ralph,  who  was 
working  hard  by  day  and  dreaming  dreams  by 
night.  Private  business  kept  me  from  spending 
the  summer  in  Europe.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as 
well  I  was  at  home,  for  early  in  July  old  Dr.  Van 
Zandt  had  a  stroke  and  he  never  left  his  bed 
again.  When  he  died,  toward  the  end  of  August, 
there  was  much  to  be  done  to  get  the  affairs  of 
the  church  in  order,  and  most  of  this  work  was 
put  on  my  shoulders  as  senior  warden.  I  had 
been  down  to  the  Safe  Deposit  Vaults  one  hot 
day,  about  the  first  of  September,  and  I  bought 
the  first  edition  of  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  "  to  read 
on  my  way  up-town  in  the  elevated.  The  first  tele- 
gram which  caught  my  eye  announced  the  death 
of  Ralph  De  Witt ! ' 

'  Poor  fellow  ! '  was  Mrs.  Vernon's  involuntary 
comment. 

'  Was  it  an  accident  ? '  asked  her  brother. 

Uncle  Larry  hesitated  a  second,  and  then 
answered  :  'All  that  the  telegram  told  me  was  the 
barren  fact  of  his  death.  It  seems  he  had  insisted 
on  scaling  the  precipitous  side  of  a  canon  ;  before 

1 


ii4  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

he  had  ascended  more  than  a  few  feet  he  slipped, 
and  fell  head  first  into  the  rushing  river  below, 
and  in  a  second  the  current  bore  him  beyond  all 
reach  of  help.  At  first  I  was  stunned  by  the 
shock.  I  could  not  believe  that  the  brave  boy 
I  had  known  since  he  was  a  baby  had  had  the  life 
dashed  out  of  him  by  the  cruel  waters  of  the 
Colorado.  Then  I  suddenly  thought  of  his  wife. 
No  one  knew  of  their  marriage,  or  even  of  their 
engagement,  except  me — and  I  doubted  if  she 
were  aware  of  my  knowledge.  I  knew  her  very 
slightly  ;  I  had  felt  the  charm  of  her  beauty,  but  I 
had  always  chilled  as  she  came  near  me.  I  ques- 
tioned if  it  were  not  my  duty  to  break  the  news  to 
her  gently  before  the  cold  brutality  of  a  newspaper 
paragraph  told  her  of  her  husband's  lonely  death. 
The  evening  paper  would  not  reach  her  until  the 
next  morning,  and  if  I  took  the  three  o'clock  train 
I  could  be  in  Newport  in  time  to  meet  her  that 
night.  She  was  staying  at  the  Sargents',  and  there 
was  to  be  a  ball  that  very  evening.  I  was  always 
very  fond  of  Sam  Sargent's  daughter  Dorothy — 
Mrs.  Bob  White,  you  know — and  she  had  sent  me 
an  invitation.  I  had  accepted,  although  I  had  been 
moved  afterward  to  give  up  the  idea  of  going. 
With  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  "  in  my  hand  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  it  was  my  duty  to  go  to  New- 
port and  to  break  the  news  of  Ralph  De  Witt's 
death  as  best  I  could  to  his  unsuspecting  wife.' 

Laurence  Laughton  paused   in   the  telling  of 
his  tale,  and  threw  his  little  cigar  through  the  open 


BRIEF— AS   WOMAN'S  LOVE  115 

window.  He  leaned  over  the  table  'and  poured  out 
a  tiny  glass  of  brandy.  Then  he  continued  : 

'  Before  eleven  o'clock  that  night  I  was  in  New- 
port and  at  Mr.  Sargent's.  I  asked  for  Sibylla, 
and  I  was  told  she  was  in  the  ball-room.  As 
Sargent's  house  was  not  large,  he  had  floored  over 
his  lawn,  and  the  ball-room  was  a  tent,  hung  with 
flowers,  and  lighted  by  the  electric  light  hidden 
behind  Japanese  umbrellas.  As  I  entered  the  tent 
I  thought  of  Ralph  De  Witt  lying  dead  and  alone, 
after  a  struggle  with  the  angry  current  of  the 
Colorado,  while  his  wife,  for  whom  he  would  have 
given  his  soul,  was  dancing  the  German  with  a 
French  attach^.  After  many  vain  attempts  I  got 
speech  of  her  at  last.  She  took  my  arm,  and  I 
wondered  if  she  could  hear  the  thumping  of  my 
heart.  We  walked  up  and  down  a  dim  piazza,  more 
fit  for  the  confidences  of  a  lover  than  for  the  message 
I  bore.  But  if  I  was  excited,  she  was  as  calm  as 
ever.  As  delicately  as  I  could  I  broke  the  fatal 
news.' 

'  How  did  she  take  it?'  asked  Mrs.  Vernon. 

'  She  took  it  coolly.  I  had  thought  her  cold, 
but  I  confess  that  her  placidity  astonished  me. 
She  never  lost  command  over  herself.  She 
showed  no  feeling  whatever.  She  listened  to  me 
quietly,  and  said  :  "  Dear  me  !  what  a  pity  !  Such 
a  handsome  fellow  too  !  and  so  promising  ! 
You  were  old  friends,  were  you  not  ?  It  musf 
be  a  sad  blow  to  you."  This  reception  fairly 
staggered  me.  Plainly  enough  she  never  suspected 


Ii6  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

that  I  knew  of  her  engagement  and  of  her  mar- 
riage. The  careless  way  in  which  she  brushed 
aside  my  news  and  offered  her  condolence  to  me 
was  the  last  thing  I  had  expected.  If  it  was  self- 
control,  it  was  marvellous  ;  if  it  was  acting  there 
was  never  better  here  on  the  boards  of  the 
Comedie  Francaise ;  if  it  was  hardness  of  heart, 
then  it  was  well  for  Ralph  De  Witt  that  his  body 
lay  lifeless  on  the  bank  of  the  Colorado.  Just 
then  Sam  Sargent  came  out  and  joined  us.  I  said 
nothing,  but  Sibylla  began  at  once,  and  told  him 
of  Ralph's  death.  Sargent  is  a  good- hearted  fellow, 
coarse  at  bottom,  it  may  be,  but  he  can  be  sympa- 
thetic. He  knew  I  loved  Ralph,  and  he  asked  me 
for  the  details  of  his  death  with  kindness  in  his 
voice.  She  listened,  impassive  and  stately,  as  I 
told  Sargent  the  little  I  knew.  I  watched  her, 
but  she  never  even  changed  colour.  When  I  had 
ended,  she  said,  "  I  liked  Mr.  De  Witt  very  much. 
I  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  him  at  Mount  Desert 
last  summer — we  went  rocking  together."  Then 
she  took  Sargent's  arm  and  went  into  the  house, 
leaving  me  speechless.  Her  indifference  was  ap- 
palling, and  I  did  not  know  what  to  think.' 

'  A  very  remarkable  young  woman,  I  must  say,' 
declared  Rudolph  Vernon. 

'  That's  just  like  a  man,'  said  Mrs.  Vernon, 
indignantly.  '  Do  you  suppose  she  wanted  to 
reveal  the  secrets  of  her  heart  to  a  stranger?  Of 
course  she  did  not.  She  kept  calm  before  you 
and  the  rest  of  you  men,  but  when  she  was  alone 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  117 

she  dropped  the  mask  of  composure  and  cried  all 
night.' 

'  I  might  have  given  her  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt  for  a  little  while,  at  all  events,  if ' 

'  If  what  ? '  insisted  Mrs.  Vernon,  with  a  true 
woman's  instinct  of  sex  defence. 

'  If  I  had  not  met  Miss  Dorothy  Sargent,  who 
came  to  me  in  great  distress.  "  Oh,  Uncle  Larry," 
she  said,  "  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Papa  is  going  to 
marry  again,  and  he's  old  enough  to  be  her  father 
too,  for  she  was  at  school  with  me,  and  I  was  a 
class  ahead  of  her,  and  she  wasn't  clever  either. 
I've  no  use  for  a  step-mother  younger  than  I  am 
myself,  have  I  ?  And  don't  you  think  he's  big 
enough  to  know  better  ?  "  I  was  in  no  mood  to  talk 
of  marrying  and  of  giving  in  marriage,  but  I  did 
ask  her  whom  it  was  her  father  proposed  to  marry.' 

'It  wasn't  that  Sibylla,  was  it?'  asked  Mrs. 
Vernon. 

'  It  was.' 

'  But  she  had  refused  him  ? ' 

*  She  had  accepted  him.' 

'  But  she  was  a  married  woman  ! ' 

'  No  one  knew  that.  And  at  any  rate  she  had 
accepted  Sam  Sargent.  Now  you  know  what 
manner  of  man  Sam  Sargent  is.  He  is  a  Wall 
Street  speculator,  a  man  of  a  coarse  nature, 
covered  with  a  layer  of  refinement,  a  man  of 
exceeding  shrewdness,  a  man  who  worshipped 
success  however  attained.  He's  here  in  Paris  now  ; 
he  was  in  a  box  opposite  us  at  the  Opera  last 


ii8  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

night.  Think  of  a  woman's  putting  aside  Ralph 
De  Witt  to  take  Sam  Sargent  !  She  had  found 
out  that  she  wanted  wealth  and  the  luxury  it  gives, 
and  she  turned  from  Ralph  to  Sargent.  She  had 
no  strength  of  character — worse  yet,  no  heart. 
She  was  as  weak  as  water,  and  as  treacherous.' 

'You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  that  wo- 
man actually  contemplated  bigamy  ? '  demanded 
Vernon. 

'  Well,  I  don't  know  what  else  to  call  it,' 
answered  Uncle  Larry  ;  '  but  she  did  not  look  on  it 
that  way.  She  thought  that  her  marriage  to  Ralph 
was  an  idle  form,  known  only  to  the  clergyman 
and  to  themselves.  Dr.  Van  Zandt  was  dead. 
She  knew  Ralph  would  not  claim  her  against  her 
will,  and  she  believed  that  if  she  destroyed  her 
marriage  certificate— the  only  tangible  evidence  of 
her  wedding — that  she  could  undo  the  past  and 
be  a  free  woman.' 

'  That's  feminine  logic  with  a  vengeance,'  said 
Rudolph  Vernon. 

•'But  if  the  certificate  was  destroyed  why 
shouldn't  she  remarry  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Vernon, 
innocently. 

'When  I  got  back  to  New  York  two  days 
later,'  pursued  Laughton,  '  I  found  on  my  desk  a 
letter  from  Ralph  De  Witt.  I  was  reading  it  over 
again  last  night,  after  we  returned  from  the  Opera. 
I  will  read  it  to  you,  if  you  like.' 

'  Yes,  do,  Uncle  Larry,'  begged  Mrs.  Vernon. 

Uncle  Larry  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket, 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  119 

and  read  it  as  well  as  he  could,  for  his  voice 
trembled,  and  more  than  once  he  almost  broke 
down. 

'  In  Camp  on  the  Colorado : 
'August  30,  1882. 

'  DEAR  UNCLE  LARRY, — I  got  back  to  the 
camp  last  night,  after  a  little paseo  up  in  the  hills 
for  three  weeks,  and  I  found  your  welcome  letter 
awaiting  me.  I  was  pretty  tired,  for  we  had  been 
in  the  saddle  thirty-four  hours  on  a  stretch,  but  I 
read  it  through  before  I  took  off  my  coat.  I  had 
hoped  for  a  letter  from  Some  One  Else,  but  I  was 
disappointed  ;  there  must  be  a  breakdown  in  the 
mail  route  somewhere.  So  I  read  over  again  the 
paragraph  in  your  letter  referring  to  her  ;  and  then 
I  tumbled  into  bed  and  slept  eighteen  hours  on  end. 
It  was  nearly  noon  the  next  day  when  I  awoke, 
refreshed  and  a  new  man.  In  truth,  I  am  a  new 
man,  improved  and  made  over  by  the  patent 
process  of  Cupid  and  Co.  I  wake  up  every  morn- 
ing thanking  God  for  my  youth  and  my  strength, 
and,  above  all,  for  the  joy  of  my  life.  I  am  as 
happy  as  any  man  ever  was.  My  work  is  a  delight 
to  me,  and  my  future  is  a  dream  of  bliss.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  I  build  castles  in  the  air ;  but  I  re- 
member what  Thoreau  says,  and  I  am  trying  to 
put  solid  foundations  under  them.  The  mine  is 
doing  splendidly ;  it  is  a  boom  and  not  a  blizzard 
this  year :  and  with  experience  and  improved 
machinery  we  hope  for  even  better  luck  next 
season.  And  I  have  finer  news  yet.  You  are  my 


120  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

oldest  friend,  Uncle  Larry,  and  my  best  friend—- 
except one,  and  I  know  you  are  not  jealous  of  her 
— and  so  I  will  tell  you  first.  The  patent  has  been 
granted  for  my  new  process  for  reducing  ores. 
And  what  is  more,  a  practical  man  from  Leadville, 
a  regular  mining  sharp,  who  saw  the  working 
drawings  at  my  patent  agent's,  has  written  to  offer 
me  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  a  quarter  interest 
Fifty  thousand  dollars !  Think  of  that,  old  man  ! 
I  am  a  capitalist,  a  bloated  bondholder,  and  she 
shall  marry  a  rich  man  after  all.  We'll  make  a 
raid  on  Tiffany's  when  I  arrive  in  New  York^in 
the  fall,  and  you  shall  help  me  pick  out  a  pair  of 
solitaires — real  solitaires,  as  the  lady  said — which 
will  give  her  ears  a  chance  to  rival  her  eyes  in 
their  sparkle. 

'  Good-bye,  Uncle  Larry,  and  for  ever.  When 
you  read  this  I  shall  be  dead  and  out  of  her 
way.  What  use  is  life  to  me  if  she  does  not  love 
me  ?  Her  letter  has  come  at  last,  and  I  know  the 
worst.  She  dreads  poverty,  she  breaks  with  me, 
and  I  fear  she  is  going  to  marry  another  man. 
This  is  a  damned  bad  world,  isn't  it,  Uncle  Larry  ? 
But  I  forgive  her  ;  I  cannot  help  it,  for  I  love  her 
as  much  as  ever.  Poor  girl,  how  she  must  have  suf- 
fered before  she  wrote  me  that  letter  !  If  she  wants 
money  she  shall  have  it — she  shall  have  all  I  hoped 
to  gain.  I  have  no  use  for  it  but  to  make  her 
happy.  There's  a  man  in  our  party  here  who  was 
a  lawyer  once,  and  he  is  drawing  up  my  will  for 
me.  I  have  made  you  my  executor.  You  will  do 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  121 

this  last  favour  for  me,  won't  you  ?  I  leave 
everything  to  her,  the  little  money  I  have  in  bank, 
my  share  in  the  mine,  my  three-quarters  of  the 
patent — for  I  have  just  written  to  accept  the  fifty 
thousand  dollars  for  the  quarter.  I'd  like  her  to 
have  some  money  to  go  on  with.  You  will  attend 
to  all  these  things  for  me ;  you  have  done  so  much 
for  me  already  that  I  feel  I  have  a  right  to  make 
this  last  request.  This  is  a  long  letter,  but  I  want 
you  to  have  my  last  words — my  last  dying  speech 
and  confession.  Don't  think  I  am  going  to  be 
hanged  ;  a  man  who  is  born  to  be  drowned  can 
never  be  hanged  ;  and  I  am  going  to  be  drowned 
to-morrow.  I  don't  know  how  or  when,  but  a  fall 
from  the  rocks  is  an  easy  thing  to  accomplish,  and 
the  river  will  do  the  rest.  If  she  wishes  to  marry, 
I  had  best  take  myself  out  of  the  way  and  leave 
her  free.  After  all,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Life  is 
little  or  nothing — it  is  only  a  prologue,  or  the  posy 
of  a  ring.  It  is  brief,  my  lord — as  woman's  love. 
I  am  in  haste  to  be  about  my  business  and  to  put 
an  end  to  it  The  prologue  has  lasted  too  long ; 
it  is  time  for  the  real  play  to  begin,  the  tragedy  of 
time  and  eternity,  to  last  until  '  the  curtain,  a 
funeral  pall,  comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm.' 
Poor  Poe  was  right  for  once,  though  I  need  no 
angels  to  affirm  "  that  the  play  is  the  tragedy,  Man, 
and  its  hero  the  conqueror,  Worm."  We  shall 
meet  again,  Uncle  Larry,  and  until  that  meeting, 
God  be  with  you,  and  God  help  me ! 

'  RALPH  DE  WITT.' 


1-2  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

'Did  she  take  the  legacy?'  asked  Rudolph 
Vernon. 

'  She  did  indeed,'  answered  Laughton.  '  And 
Sam  Sargent  organised  a  company  for  working 
the  patent,  and  floated  it  in  London,  and  cleared 
half  a  million  or  more  out  of  it.  And  it  was  lucky 
he  did,  because  he  got  squeezed  badly  in  the  Trans- 
continental Telegraph  corner  last  year,  and  Ralph 
De  Witt's  legacy  is  all  the  Sargents  have  left  now.' 

'  So  she  actually  married  Sargent  ? '  was  Mrs. 
Vernon's  doleful  remark. 

'Why  not?'  asked  Laughton,  in  return. 
'  Ralph's  death  left  her  free  to  marry  whom  she 
pleased.' 

'  Now  you  have  told  your  tale,  you  have  proved 
my  assertion,'  said  Rudolph  Vernon.  '  In  real  life 
the  story  is  incomplete.  There  is  something 
lacking.' 

'  She  will  be  punished  somehow,  never  fear,'  was 
Mrs.  Vernon's  cheerful  assertion. 

'  I  think  the  puVnshment  has  begun  already,' 
said  Laughton.  '  Indeed,  it  followed  fast  upon 
the  wrong-doing.  At  first  I  fear  that  Ralph's 
death  was  almost  a  relief  to  her,  for  it  gave  her 
the  freedom  she  wanted.  But  no  sooner  was  she 
married  than  she  began  to  tremble  at  her  work. 
With  all  her  money  she  could  not  bribe  her  own 
thoughts  to  let  her  alone.  She  could  not  stab  her 
own  conscience,  and  kill  it  with  a  single  blow.  If  a 
conscience  must  be  murdered,  it  takes  a  long  course 
of  slow  poisoning  to  do  it.  Then  one  day  there 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  123 

came  a  reaction,  and  she  suddenly  changed  her 
mind,  and  refused  to  believe  that  Ralph  was  dead. 
She  thinks  that  he  is  alive  and  near  her.  She 
imagines  that  he  watches  her,  and  sends  messages 
to  her  by  one  friend  and  another.  She  fancies  at 
times  that  he  hovers  about  her,  an  impalpable 
presence.  Then,  again,  he  becomes  a  tangible 
entity,  a  living  person,  and  she  declares  that  she 
has  seen  him  standing  before  her,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her  eyes,  as  though  seeking  to  read  the 
secret  of  her  soul.' 

'That's  what  the  doctor  here  would  call  a 
curious  hallucination,'  said  Mr.  Vernon. 

'Well,  I  don't  know,'  answered  Uncle  Larry, 
doubtfully. 

'Why,  the  man's  dead,  isn't  he?'  asked  Mrs. 
Vernon  with  interest. 

'  As  I  said  before,'  responded  Uncle  Lariy,  '  I 
don't  know.' 

'  But  what  do  you  think  ?  ' 

'  Well,  I  don't  know  what  to  think,'  answered 
Mr.  Laughton.  '  Of  course  I  thought  he  was  dead. 
Yet  his  body  was  never  found,  though  the  sur- 
veying party  searched  for  it  for  ten  days  or  more. 
When  I  heard  how  Mrs.  Sargent  felt  and  what  she 
fancied,  I  wondered  and  I  doubted.  Now  I  almost 
think  I  have  seen  him  once,  or  rather  twice.' 

'When?' 

'  Last  night.' 

'Where?' 

'  Here — in  Paris — at  the  Opera.     Once  as  we 


124  BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE 

entered,  and  then,  again,  after  the  third  act.  The 
first  time  was  in  the  lobby  ;  we  stood  face  to  face. 
If  the  man  who  confronted  me  then  was  not  Ralph 
De  Witt,  he  was  strangely  like  him.  I  had  a 
queer,  uncanny  shiver,  but  the  man  looked  me  in 
the  eye,  and  did  not  know  me,  and  passed  on,  and 
I  lost  sight  of  him.' 

'  And  the  second  time  ? '  asked  Dr.  Cheever, 
who  had  hitherto  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation, 
although  he  had  listened  most  attentively. 

'  As  the  curtain  fell  on  the  third  act,  I  looked 
at  Mrs.  Sargent,  who  sat  by  the  side  of  her  hus- 
band in  a  box  to  the  right  of  us.  I  saw  in  her 
eyes  a  look  of  horror  or  of  fear.  I  turned  my  head, 
and  there,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  theatre, 
stood  the  same  man,  Ralph  De  Witt,  or  his  double. 
He  was  gazing  intently  at  Mrs.  Sargent.  I  looked 
at  her  again,  and  I  saw  her  whiten  and  fall  side- 
ways. Her  husband  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and 
they  left  the  box  at  once.  When  I  sought  my 
dead  friend  again  he  was  gone.' 

There  was  silence  after  Laughton  stopped 
speaking.  Then  Rudolph  Vernon  remarked  : 
'  The  romance  of  real  life  is  better  rounded  than  I 
had  thought,  but  it  is  still  incomplete  artistically. 
There  is  more  behind  these  facts,  and  to  evolve 
this  unsubstantial  but  essential  something  is  the 
duty  of  the  literary  artist.' 

'  Perhaps,'  said  Dr.  Cheever,  slowly — '  perhaps 
a  physician  may  complete  the  tale  as  well  as  an 
author.' 


BRIEF— AS    WOMAN'S  LOVE  125 

'  Why,  Richard,  what  do  you  know  about  it  ? ' 
asked  his  sister. 

'Very  little  indeed,  and  until  this  morning  I 
knew  even  less.  If  I  had  heard  Mr.  Laughton's 
story  yesterday,  I  could  have  decided  more 
promptly  and  more  intelligently,  it  may  be,  but  my 
decision  would  have  been  the  same.' 

'Were  you  called  in  to  attend  Mrs.  Sargent 
this  morning  ? '  asked  his  sister.  '  Oh,  why  didn't 
you  tell  us  before  ?  ' 

'  I  should  not  tell  you  now  if  the  case  were  not 
hopeless.  I  could  not  go  to  the  Salon  with  you 
this  morning  because  I  was  suddenly  summoned 
to  join  two  French  physicians  in  an  examination 
of  Mrs.  Sargent's  mental  condition.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  about  it,  unfortunately  ;  we  all  agreed ; 
and  an  hour  before  I  joined  you  here  I  signed  the 
order  which  committed  her  to  an  asylum.' 


PERCHANCE   TO    DREAM 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM. 


MRS.  MARTIN,  who  was  known  to  her  lively  young 
friends  in  New  York  as  the  Duchess  of  Washington 
Square,  had  a  handsome  place  on  the  Hudson, 
just  above  West  Point.  It  was  called  the  Eyrie — 
although,  as  Dear  Jones  naturally  remarked,  that 
road  did  not  take  you  there.  Every  fall,  when  the 
banks  of  the  river  reddened  to  their  ripest  glory, 
and  when  the  maple  had  donned  its  coat  of  many 
colours,  the  Duchess  was  wont  to  fill  the  Eyrie 
with  her  young  friends.  From  the  Eyrie  was 
heard  the  report  of  many  an  engagement  which 
had  hung  fire  at  Newport  and  at  Lenox.  The 
Duchess  was  fond  of  having  pretty  girls  about  her, 
and  she  always  invited  clever  young  men  to  amuse 
them.  She  was  an  admirable  hostess,  and  no  one 
ever  regretted  that  he  had  accepted  her  invitation. 
Mr.  Martin,  who  was,  of  course,  relegated  to  his 
proper  position  as  merely  the  husband  of  the 
Duchess,  was,  in  fact,  a  charming  old  gentleman, 
as  the  clever  young  men  soon  discovered  when 
they  came  to  know  him.  Indeed,  although  Mrs, 

K 


130  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

Martin  was  the  dominant  partner,  Mr.  Martin  was 
quite  as  popular  as  she. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  last  Saturday  in 
October,  just  as  the  sudden  twilight  was  closing  in 
on  the  river,  the  ferry-boat  came  gently  to  its  place 
in  the  dock  of  the  West  Shore  Station  in  Jersey 
City,  and  two  young  men  in  the  thick  of  the  throng 
which  pressed  forward  to  the  train  were  thrust 
sharply  against  each  other. 

'  Hello,  Charley  ! '  said  one  of  them,  recognising 
his  involuntary  assailant :  '  are  you  devoting  your- 
self to  the  popular  suburban  amusement  known  as 
"  catching  your  train  "  ? ' 

'  Hello  yourself !  I'm  not  a  telephone,'  Charley 
Sutton  responded,  merrily.  '  I'm  catching  a  train 
to-night  because  I'm  going  up  to  the  Eyrie  to 
spend  Sunday.' 

'  So  am  I,'  answered  his  friend,  Mr.  Robert 
White,  who  was  one  of  the  editors  of  the  '  Gotham 
Gazette,'  and  who  wrote  admirably  about  all 
aquatic  sports  under  the  alluring  pen-name  of 
« Poor  Bob  White.' 

'  My  wife  is  up  there  now,'  continued  Sutton. 

*  So  is  mine,'  responded  White  ;  '  and  Dear 
Jones  and  his  wife  promised  to  go  up  on  this 
train.' 

By  this  time  the  young  men  were  alongside  the 
train  :  they  boarded  the  Pullman  car,  and  in  one  of 
the  forward  compartments  they  found  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Delancey  Jones  and  also  Mrs.  Martin. 

The    Duchess    greeted   them    very    cordially. 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  131 

Come  and  sit  down  by  me,  both  of  you,'  she  said, 
with  her  pleasant  imperiousness  : '  I  want  somebody 
to  talk  to  me.  Dear  Jones  is  getting  perfectly 
horrid.  He  is  so  taken  up  with  his  wife  and  the 
baby  now  that  he  isn't  half  as  entertaining  as  he 
used  to  be.' 

'Why,  Mrs.  Martin,  how  can  you  say  so?' 
interjected  Mrs.  Delancey  Jones.  '  I  don't  mono- 
polise him  at  all.  I  scarcely  see  anything  of  him 
now,  he  is  so  busy.' 

'  You  ought  not  to  have  introduced  us  to  each 
other  if  you  didn't  want  us  to  fall  in  love  and  get 
married,'  said  Dear  Jones. 

'  I  decline  all  responsibility  on  that  score,'  the 
Duchess  declared.  '  People  call  me  a  match-maker. 
Now,  I'm  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  never  interfere 
with  Providence  ;  and  you  know  marriages  are 
made  in  heaven.' 

'You  believe,  then,  that  all  weddings  are  or- 
dained by  Fate  ?  '  asked  Charley  Sutton. 

'  Indeed  I  do,'  Mrs.  Martin  answered. 

'  Well,  it  is  a  rather  comforting  doctrine  for 
us  happily-married  men  to  believe  that  our  good 
luck  was  predestination  and  not  free-will,'  said 
White. 

'  I  wish  this  predestination  was  accompanied 
by  a  gift  of  second-sight,'  Dear  Jones  remarked, 
'  that  we  might  see  into  the  future  and  know  our 
elective  affinity  and  not  be  downcast  when  siie 
rejects  us  the  first  time  of  asking.' 

Oh,  you  men  would  be  too  conceited  to  live  if 


132  PERCHANCE    TO  DREAM 

we  didn't  take  you  down  now  and  then,'  said  his 
wife,  airily. 

'  Of  course  /  knew  you  didn't  mean  it,'  he  went 
on. 

'The  idea!'  she  cried,  indignantly.  'I  did 
mean  it !  Why,  I  couldn't  bear  you  then.' 

'  Still,'  White  suggested,  '  a  power  to  see  into 
the  future  would  simplify  courtship,  and  men  would 
not  draw  as  many  blanks  in  the  lottery  of  matri- 
mony.' 

'  Second-sight  would  be  a  very  handy  thing  to 
have  in  the  house,  anyhow,'  Charley  Sutton  declared. 
•A  man  who  had  the  gift  could  make  a  pocketful 
of  rocks  in  Wall  Street.' 

'  Oh,  Delancey,'  cried  Mrs.  Jones,  '  wouldn't  it 
be  delightful  if  you  could  only  interpret  dreams  ! 
You  would  make  your  fortune  in  a  month.' 

*  I'd  be  sure  to  predict  that  the  world  was  com- 
ing to  an  end  every  time  I  ate  mince-pie,'  replied 
Dear  Jones.  '  Nobody  has  had  rich  visions  on 
prison-fare  since  Joseph  explained  his  dream  to 
Pharaoh's  chief  steward.' 

'  I  wonder  how  the  esoteric  Buddhists  and  the 
psychic-research  sharps  would  explain  away  that 
little  act  of  Joseph's,'  Charley  Sutton  remarked, 
with  a  fuller  admixture  than  usual  of  the  Califor- 
nian  idiom  which  he  had  brought  from  the  home  of 
his  boyhood. 

'  They  would  call  it  telepathy,  or  thought- 
transference,  or  mind-reading,  or  some  other  of  the 
slang  phrases  of  the  adept,'  White  answered. 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  133 

'  I  don't  know  how  much  there  may  be  in  this 
Spiritualism,'  said  the  Duchess,  in  her  most  im- 
pressive manner  ;  '  but.  somehow,  I  do  not  feel  any 
right  to  doubt  it  altogether.  They  do  very  strange 
things  at  times,  I  must  say.' 

Dear  Jones  caught  Charley  Button's  eye,  and 
they  both  winked  in  silent  glee  at  this  declaration 
of  principles. 

'  This  play  that  we  have  been  to  see  this  after- 
noon,' the  Duchess  continued — '  there  is  something 
uncanny  about  it.' 

'The  last  act  is  simply  thrilling,'  added  Mrs. 
Jones  :  '  I  felt  as  if  I  must  scream  out.' 

'  Where  did  you  go  ?  '  asked  White. 

'  Mrs.  Martin  and  I  came  in  this  morning,' 
Mrs.  Jones  answered,  '  to  do  some  shopping,  of 
course ' 

'  Of  course,'  interjected  her  husband,  sarcasti- 
cally. 

'  And  to  go  to  the  matinee  at  the  Manhattan 
Theatre,  to  see  that  English  company  in  the 
"  Bells," '  she  continued. 

'It  is  rather  an  eerie  play,'  said  Sutton.  'The 
vision  in  the  last  act,  where  Mathias  dreams  that 
he  has  been  mesmerised  and  must  answer  the 
accusing  questions  in  spite  of  himself,  is  a  very 
strong  bit  of  acting.' 

'  I  can't  say  I  enjoyed  it,'  Mrs.  Martin  declared : 
'it  was  too  vivid.  And  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
how  awkward  it  would  be  if  a  man  was  able  to 
read  our  thoughts  and  force  us  to  tell  our  secrets.' 


134  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

'  If  any  man  had  such  a  power/  said  Dear 
Jones  with  imperturbable  gravity,  '  going  out  into 
society  would  be  inconveniently  risky.' 

'It  would  indeed!'  the  Duchess  declared. 
Whereupon  Dear  Jones  and  Charley  Sutton  ex- 
changed a  wicked  wink. 

'I'm  not  given  to  the  interpretation  of  signs 
and  wonders,'  said  Dear  Jones,  'and  I  have  not 
paid  any  special  attention  to  the  inexplicable 
phenomena  of  occult  philosophy ' 

'  Very  good ! '  interrupted  White  : ' "  inexplicable 
phenomena  of  occult  philosophy  "  is  very  good.' 

*  Really,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  jest  on  such 
a  serious  subject,'  said  the  Duchess,  authoritatively. 

'  I  assure  you  I  meant  to  be  very  serious 
indeed,'  Mr.  Delancey  Jones  explained :  '  I  was 
going  on  to  inform  you  that  once  I  was  told  a 
dream  which  actually  came  to  pass.' 

'  You  mean  the  man  on  the  "  Barataria "  ? ' 
asked  his  wife,  eagerly,  and  with  a  feminine  dis- 
regard of  strictly  grammatical  construction. 

'Yes.' 

'  Why,  that  is  just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
to  tell  Mrs.  Martin.  I  think  it  is  the  most  wonder- 
ful thing  1  ever  heard.  Oh,  you  must  tell !  It 
was  only  a  month  or  so  ago,  you  know,  when  we 
were  coming  back  from  London.  You  tell  them 
the  rest,  Lance :  I  get  too  excited  when  I  think 
about  it' 

'  Spin  us  the  yarn,  as  Bob  White  would  say,' 
remarked  Charley  Sutton. 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  135 

'If  you  can  a  tale  unfold,'  White  added,  'just 
freeze  the  marrow  of  our  bones  ! ' 

'  It  isn't  anything  to  laugh  at,  I  assure  you/ 
cried  Mrs.  Jones,  pathetically.  '  You  think  that 
because  Lance  is  funny  sometimes  he  can't  be 
serious  ;  but  he  can !  Just  wait,  and  you  shall 
see ! ' 

'  Is  this  a  joke  ? '  asked  the  Duchess,  who  was 
always  a  little  uneasy  in  the  presence  of  a  merry 
jest. 

'  It  is  quite  serious,  Mrs.  Martin,  I  assure  you. 
There  are  no  mystic  influences  in  it,  nor  any  mes- 
meric nonsense :  it  is  only  the  story  of  an  extra- 
ordinary case  of  foresight  into  the  future,  to  which 
I  can  bear  witness  in  person,  although  I  have  abso- 
lutely no  explanation  to  propose.' 

'  It  fs  a  mystery,  then  ?  '  asked  White. 

'  Precisely,'  answered  Jones ;  '  and,  with  all 
your  detective  skill,  Bob,  I  doubt  if  you  can  spy 
out  the  heart  of  it.' 

The  voice  of  the  conductor  was  heard  crying 
'  All  aboard  ! '  a  bell  rang,  a  whistle  shrieked,  and 
the  train  glided  smoothly  out  of  the  station.  The 
little  company  in  the  compartment  of  the  Pullman 
car  settled  back  comfortably  to  listen  to  the  story 
Dear  Jones  was  going  to  tell. 

II. 

'  YOU  know,'  Mr.  Delancey  Jones  began,  '  that 
I  had  to  go  to  Paris  this  summer  to  get  some  de- 


136  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

corative  panels  for  the  parlour  of  a  man  whose 
house  I  am  building.  Now,  I'm  not  one  of  those 
who  think  that  Paris  is  short  for  Paradise,  and  I 
wanted  to  run  over  and  give  my  order  and  hurry 
back.  But  my  wife  said  she  had  business  in  Paris, 

'And  so  I  had,'  his  wife  asserted.  '  I  hadn't  a 
dress  fit  to  be  seen  in.' 

'  Consequently,'  he  continued,  disregarding  this 
interruption,  '  she  went  with  me  ;  and  she  wouldn't 
go  without  the  baby — 

'  I'm  not  an  inhuman  wretch,  I  hope,'  declared 
Mrs.  Jones,  sharply.  '  As  if  I  could  leave  the  child 
at  home !  Besides,  she  needed  clothes  as  much 
as  I  did.  But  there !  I  won't  say  another  word. 
When  he  looks  at  me  like  that,  I  know  I've  just 
got  to  hold  my  tongue  for  the  rest  of  the  day.' 

With  unruffled  placidity  Dear  Jones  continued, 
'The  man  who  makes  robes  didn't  come  to  time, 
the.  lady  who  sells  modes  was  late,  and  the  conduct 
of  the  lingere  was  unconscionable. — I  trust,'  he 
asked,  turning  to  his  wife,  '  that  I  have  applied 
these  technical  terms  with  precision  ? ' 

'Oh  yes,'  she  answered  ;  'and  you  know  more 
about  them  than  most  men  do.' 

'  The  result  was,'  Dear  Jones  went  on,  '  that  we 
had  to  give  up  our  passage  on  the  "  Provence."  By 
great  good  luck  I  managed  to  get  fair  state-rooms 
on  the  "  Barataria,"  which  sailed  from  Liverpool  a 
fortnight  or  so  later.  We  had  two  days  in  London 
and  a  night  in  Liverpool,  and  then  we  went  on 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  137 

board  the  "  Barataria,"  and  waked  up  the  next 
morning  in  Queenstown,  after  a  night  of  storm 
which  proved  to  us  that  although  the  ship  rolled 
very  little  she  pitched  tremendously.  She  had  a 
trick  of  sliding  head-first  into  a  wave,  and  then 
shivering,  and  then  wagging  her  tail  up  and  down, 
in  a  way  which  baffles  description.' 

'  You  need  not  attempt  to  describe  it,'  said  the 
Duchess,  with  dignity,  raising  her  handkerchief  to 
her  lips. 

Dear  Jones  was  magnanimous.  '  Well,  I  won't/ 
he  said.  '  I'll  leave  it  to  your  imagination.  We 
lay  off  Queenstown  all  Sunday  morning.  Early  in 
the  afternoon  the  tender  brought  us  the  mails  and 
a  few  passengers.  I  leaned  over  the  side  of  the 
boat  and  watched  them  come  up  the  gangway. 
One  man  I  couldn't  help  looking  at :  there  was 
something  very  queer  about  him.  and  yet  I  failed 
to  discover  what  it  was.  He  seemed  commonplace 
enough  in  manner  and  in  dress ;  he  was  of  medium 
size ;  and  at  first  sight  he  had  no  tangible  eccen- 
tricity. And  yet  there  was  an  oddity  about  him, 
a  certain  something  which  seemed  to  set  him 
apart  from  the  average  man.  Even  now  I  cannot 
say  exactly  wherein  this  personal  peculiarity  lay, 
yet  I  studied  him  all  the  way  over,  and  I  found 
that  others  had  also  remarked  it.  The  one  thing 
in  which  he  definitely  differed  from  others  ^was 
his  paleness ;  he  was  as  white  as  a  ghost  with  the 
dyspepsia.  He  was  a  man  of  perhaps  fifty  ;  he 
was  clean-shaven  ;  he  had  very  dark  hair,  so 


138  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

absurdly  glossy  that  I  wondered  if  it  were  not  a 
wig  ;  he  had  sharp  black  eyes,  which  were  either 
abnormally  restless  or  else  fixed  in  a  preoccupied 
stare. 

'  The  "  Barataria  "  was  crowded,  and  the  ship's 
company  was  as  mixed  as  a  Broadway  car  on  a 
Saturday  afternoon  :  there  was  the  regular  medley 
of  pilgrims  and  strangers,  republicans  and  sinners. 
There  was  an  English  official,  Sir  Kensington 
Gower,  K.C.B.,  and  there  was  a  German  antiquary, 
Herr  Julius  Feuerwasser,  the  discoverer  of  the 
celebrated  Von  der  Schwindel  manuscript.  There 
was  a  funny  little  fellow  we  called  the  Egyptian, 
because  he  was  born  in  Constantinople,  of  Dutch 
parents,  and  had  been  brought  up  in  China :  he 
had  worked  in  the  South  African  diamond-fields, 
and  he  was  then  a  salaried  interpreter  at  a  Cuban 
court.  In  short,  we  had  on  board  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men,  as  per  passenger-list.  We 
steamed  out  of  Queenstown  in  the  teeth  of  a  stiff 
gale ;  and  I  shall  willingly  draw  a  veil  over  our 
feelings  for  the  first  two  days  out.  We  managed 
to  get  on  deck  and  to  get  into  our  steamer-chairs 
and  to  lie  there  inert  until  nightfall ;  and  that  was 
the  utmost  we  could  do.  But  Wednesday  was 
bright :  the  wind  had  died  away  to  a  fair  breeze,  just 
brisk  enough  to  keep  our  furnaces  at  their  best ; 
the  waves  had  gone  down  ;  and  so  our  spirits  rose. 
I  went  to  breakfast  late  and  to  lunch  early.  I 
found  that  the  odd-looking  man  I  had  noted  when 
he  came  aboard  at  Queenstown  was  placed  opposite 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  139 

to  me,  between  Herr  Julius  Feuerwasser  and  Sir 
Kensington  Gower.  They  had  already  become 
acquainted  one  with  another.  During  lunch  the 
pale  stranger  had  a  fierce  discussion  with  the 
learned  German  about  the  Eleusinian  mysteries, 
and  he  pushed  the  Teuton  hard,  abounding  in 
facts  and  quotations  and  revealing  himself  as  a 
keen  master  of  close  logic.  Herr  Julius  lost  his 
temper  once  as  his  wary  adversary  broke  through 
his  guard  and  pinned  him  with  an  unfortunate 
admission  ;  and  at  dinner  we  found  that  the 
archaeologist  had  applied  to  the  chief  steward  to 
change  his  seat  at  table.  As  he  was  an  over- 
bearing person,  I  didn't  regret  his  departure.' 

'  I  have  seen  a  German  grand  duke  eat  peas 
with  his  knife ! '  said  the  Duchess,  as  one  who 
produces  a  fact  of  the  highest  sociological  im- 
portance. 

'  Apparently  the  victor  in  the  debate  did  not 
remark  the  absence  of  his  vanquished  foe/  Dear 
Jones  continued,  '  for  he  and  the  K.C.B.  soon  got 
into  a  most  interesting  discussion  of  the  Rosicru- 
cians.  Obviously  enough,  Sir  Kensington  Gower 
was  a  learned  man,  of  deep  reading  and  a  wide  ex- 
perience of  life,  and  he  had  given  special  attention 
to  the  subject ;  but  the  pale  man  spoke  as  one 
having  authority—  as  though  he  were  the  sole  sur- 
viving repository  of  the  Rosicrucian  secret.  The 
talk  between  him  and  Sir  Kensington  was  amicable 
arid  courteous,  and  it  did  not  degenerate  into  a 
mere  duel  of  words  like  that  in  which  he  had 


140  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

worsted  the  German.  Their  conversation  was  ex- 
tremely interesting,  and  I  listened  intently,  having 
had  a  chance  to  slip  in  a  professional  allusion 
when  they  happened  to  refer  to  the  connection  be- 
tween Architecture  and  Masonry.  I  heard  Sir 
Kensington  Gower  call  the  stranger  by  name — Mr. 
Blackstone.  There  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  curious  fit- 
ness between  this  name  and  its  wearer  :  fancifully 
enough,  I  saw  in  the  man  a  certain  dignity  and  a 
certain  prim  decision  which  made  the  name  singu- 
larly appropriate.  Before  dinner  was  over,  the 
talk  turned  to  lighter  topics.  As  Sir  Kensington 
went  below  to  see  after  his  wife ' 

'  I  remember  that  you  didn't  come  to  see  after 
me  ! '  interrupted  Mrs.  Jones,  laughing.  '  I  was 
left  on  deck  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  steward. 
But  no  matter  ;  I  forgive  you.' 

Her  husband  went  on  with  his  story,  regardless 
of  this  feminine  personality  : 

c  Mr.  Blackstone  and  I  left  the  table  together  to 
get  our  coffee  in  the  smoking-saloon.  Our  later 
conversation  had  been  so  easy  that  I  ventured  to 
say  to  him  that  a  name  like  his  could  belong  by 
rights  only  to  a  lawyer — or  to  a  coal-dealer.  The 
remark  was  perhaps  impertinent,  but  it  was  inno- 
cent enough ;  yet  a  sudden  flush  flitted  across  his 
white  face,  and  he  gave  me  a  piercing  flash  from 
his  unfathomable  eyes  before  he  answered,  shortly, 
"  Yes,  I  am  a  lawyer ;  and  my  father  owns  and 
works  a  coal-mine  near  Newcastle."  I  did  not  risk 
another  familiarity.  His  manner  towards  me  did 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  141 

not  change ;  he  was  as  polite  and  as  affable  as  before : 
I  studied  him  in  vain  to  see  what  might  be  the 
peculiarity  I  was  conscious  of  but  unable  to  define. 
We  had  our  coffee,  and,  encouraged  by  my  dinner, 
I  was  emboldened  to  take  the  cigar  Mr.  Blackstone 
offered  me :  I  have  rarely  smoked  a  better.  We 
sat  side  by  side  for  a  few  minutes  almost  in  silence, 
watching  the  smoke  of  our  cigars  as  it  wreathed 
upward,  forming  quaint  interrogation-marks  in  the 
air  and  then  fading  away  'nt  >  nothing.  Then  the 
man  we  called  the  Egyptian — I  knew  him,  as  he 
had  crossed  with  us  in  the  "  City  of  Constanti- 
nople "  last  year — came  over  and  asked  us  to  take 
a  hand  in  a  little  game  of  poker.' 

'  He  knew  the  secret  wish  of  your  heart,  didn't 
he  ?  '  asked  Robert  White.  '  I  suggest  this  as  an 
appropriate  epitaph  for  Dear  Jones's  tombstone : 
"  He  played  the  game." ' 

'  I  think  I  can  give  you  a  simpler  one,'  said  the 
young  Californian, — '  just  this  :  "  Jones'  Bones."  ' 

'  I  wonder  what  there  is  so  fascinating  to  you 
men  in  a  game  like  poker,'  the  Duchess  remarked. 
'You  all  love  it.  Mr.  Martin  says  that  it  is  the 
only  game  a  business-man  can  afford  to  play.' 

'  Mr.  Martin  is  a  man  of  excellent  judgment 
— as  we  can  see,'  said  Robert  White,  bowing 
politely. 

'  Mr.  Martin  is  a  man  of  better  manners  than  to 
interrupt  me  when  I  am  telling  a  story  of  the  'most 
recondite  psychological  interest,'  remarked  Dear 
Jones. 


i43  PERCHANCE,  TO  DREAM 

1  Don't  mind  them,  Lance,'  his  wife  urged : 
1  just  hurry  up  to  the  surprising  part  of  the  story, 
and  they  will  be  glad  enough  to  listen  then.' 
Thus  encouraged,  Dear  Jones  proceeded  : 
'  As  I  said,  the  Egyptian  came  over  and  asked 
us  to  join  in  getting  up  a  game.  Mr.  Blackstone 
had  been  playing  with  them  every  afternoon  and 
evening.  We  crossed  over  to  an  empty  table  in 
the  corner  where  the  other  players  were  awaiting 
us.  There  was  a  change  in  Blackstone's  manner 
as  he  sat  down  before  the  cards.  I  thought  I  saw 
a  hotter  fire  in  his  eyes.  As  soon  as  he  took  his 
seat,  he  reached  out  his  hand  and  grasped  the 
pack  which  was  lying  on  the  table.  For  the  first 
time,  I  noticed  how  thin  and  slender  and  sinewy 
his  hand  was.  He  gripped  the  cards  like  a  steel- 
trap,  holding  them  for  a  second  or  two  face  down- 
ward on  the  table.  Then  he  cut  hastily  and  looked 
at  the  bottom  card.  Again  the  quick  flush  fied 
across  his  face.  He  cut  again  and  looked  at  the 
card,  and  then  again.  I  noted  that  he  had  cut  a 
black  court-card  three  times  running.  After  the 
last  cut  he  gripped  the  pack  again,  as  though  he 
wished  to  try  a  fourth  time,  but  he  seemed  to 
change  his  mind,  for  he  threw  the  cards  down  on 
the  table  and  said,  "  I  think  I  had  better  not  play 
to-night."  "  Why  not  ? "  asked  the  Egyptian. 
Blackstone  smiled  very  queerly,  and  hesitated 
again,  and  then  he  said,  "  Because  I  should  win 
your  money."  The  Egyptian  laughed.  "  I  take 
my  chance  of  that,"  he  answered  ;  "  you  play  ;  you 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  143 

win—  if  you  can  ;  I  win  — if  I  can."  Blackstone 
smiled  again.  "  You  had  better  not  urge  me,"  he 
replied  :  "  sometimes  I  can  look  a  little  way  into 
the  future  :  I  can  tell  when  I  am  going  to  be  lucky. 
If  I  play  to-night,  I  shall  win  from  all  of  you." 
The  Egyptian  laughed  again,  and  then  began  deal- 
ing the  cards.  "  I  bet  you  two  shillings,"  he  said  to 
Blackstone,  "  I  get  a  pot  before  you."  The  other 
players  pressed  Blackstone  to  play.  Finally  he 
yielded,  repeating  his  warning,  "If  I  play  to- 
night, I  shall  win  everything."  Then  we  began 
the  game.' 

'  And  did  he  win  ? '  asked  Charley  Sutton, 
by  his  interest  confessing  his  initiation  into  the 
freemasonry  of  poker. 

'  Well,  he  did  ! '  Jones  answered.  '  He  emptied 
my  pocket  in  fifteen  minutes.  He  won  on  good 
hands  and  he  won  on  bad  hands.  He  came  in  on 
an  ace  and  got  four  of  a  kind.  He  could  fill  any- 
thing. He  could  draw  a  tanyard  to  a  shoestring, 
— as  they  say  in  Kentucky.  He  had  a  draught 
like  a  chimney  on  fire.  There  never  was  such 
luck.  At  last,  when  he  drew  a  king  of  spades  to 
make  a  royal  straight  flush,  the  Egyptain  sur- 
rendered :  "  I  run  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  I  run  like  a  leetle 
rabbit ! "  and  he  dropped  his  hands  on  each  side  of 
his  head,  like  the  falling  ears  of  a  frightened  rabbit.' 

'  Was  it  a  square  game  ?  '  the  young  Californian 
asked,  eagerly. 

'  I  do  not  doubt  it,'  answered  Jones :  '  I  watched 
very  closely,  and  I  have  no  reason  to  think  there 


144  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

was  any  unfair  play.  We  changed  the  pack  half  a 
dozen  times  ;  and  it  made  no  matter  who  dealt, 
Blackstone  held  the  highest  hand.' 

'  Mr.  Blackstone  seems  to  have  had  a  sort  of 
second-sight  for  his  money,'  suggested  Robert 
White. 

'  Did  his  luck  continue  ?'  asked  Charley  Sutton. 

'  Generally,'  Robert  White  remarked,  judicially, 
1  luck  is  like  milk  :  no  matter  how  good  it  is,  if  you 
keep  it  long  enough  it  is  sure  to  turn.' 

'  I  didn't  go  into  the  smoking- saloon  the  next 
day,'  Dear  Jones  explained.  '  I ' 

'  I  wouldn't  let  him ! '  interrupted  Mrs.  Jones. 
'  I  thought  he  had  lost  enough  for  one  trip  :  so  I 
tried  to  console  him  by  talking  over  the  lovely 
things  I  could  have  bought  in  Paris  with  that 
money.' 

'But  on  Friday,'  her  husband  continued,  'as 
we  left  the  lunch-table  together,  Blackstone  said  to 
me,  "  You  did  not  play  yesterday."  I  told  him  I 
had  lost  all  I  could  afford.  "  Yesterday  the  play 
was  dull,"  he  said  :  "  it  was  anybody's  game.  But 
to-day  you  can  have  your  revenge."  I  told  him  I 
had  had  enough  for  one  voyage.  "  But  I  insist  on 
your  playing  this  afternoon,"  he  persisted  :  "  I  am 
going  to  lose,  and  I  want  you  to  win  your  money 
back  ;  I  do  not  want  those  other  men  to  win  from 
me  what  you  have  lost :  it  is  enough  if  they  get 
back  what  I  have  gained  from  them."  "  But  how 
do  you  know  that  you  will  lose  and  that  I  shall 
win  ?  "  I  asked.  He  smiled  a  strange,  worn  smile, 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  145 

and  answered,  "  I  have  my  moods,  and  I  can  read 
them.  To-day  I  shall  lose.  To-day  is  Friday, 
you  know — hangman's  day.  Friday  is  always  my 
unlucky  day.  I  get  all  my  bad  news  on  Friday. 
A  week  ago  this  morning,  for  example,  I  had  no 
expectation  of  being  where  I  am  to-day."  After 
saying  this,  he  gave  me  another  of  his  transfixing 
looks,  as  though  to  mark  what  effect  upon  me 
.  this  confession  might  have.  Then  he  urged  me 
again  to  take  a  hand  in  the  game,  and  at  last  I 
suffered  myself  to  be  persuaded.  He  had  pro- 
phesied aright,  for  we  all  had  good  luck  and  he 
had  bad  luck.  He  played  well — brilliantly,  even  ; 
he  was  not  disheartened  by  his  losses  ;  he  held 
good  cards ;  he  drew  to  advantage ;  but  he  was 
beaten  unceasingly.  If  he  had  a  good  hand,  some 
one  else  held  a  better.  If  he  risked  a  bluff,  he  was 
called  with  absolute  certainty.  In  less  than  an 
hour  I  had  won  my  money  back,  and  I  began  to 
feel  ashamed  of  winning  any  more.  So  I  was  very 
glad  when  my  wife  sent  for  me  to  go  on  deck.  But 
just  before  dinner  I  looked  into  the  smoking- 
saloon  for  a  minute.  The  five  other  players  sat 
around  the  little  table  in  the  corner,  exactly  as  I 
had  left  them  three  hours  before.  When  the 
Egyptian  saw  me  he  cried,  gleefully,  "  You  made 
mistake  to  go  away.  We  all  win,  all  the  time. 
We  clean  him  out  soon."  I  looked  at  Blackstone. 
His  face  was  whiter  even  than  before:  his  eye 
caught  mine,  and  I  saw  in  it  an  expression  I  could 
not  define,  but  it  haunted  me  all  night.  As  I 

L 


146  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

turned  to  go,  he  rose  and  said, "  I  have  had  enough 
for  to-day.  It  is  no  use  to  struggle  with  what  is 
written.  Perhaps  I  may  have  a  more  fortunate 
mood  to-morrow."  At  dinner  he  sat  opposite  to 
me,  as  usual,  but  there  was  no  change  in  his  manner. 
He  had  lost  heavily — far  more  heavily  than  he 
could  afford,  I  fancy — but  there  was  no  trace  of 
chagrin  about  him.  He  talked  as  easily  and  as 
lightly  as  before  ;  and  by  the  time  dinner  was  half 
over,  he  and  Sir  Kensington  Gower  were  deep  in  a 
discussion  of  the  tenets  of  the  Theosophists.  Sir 
Kensington  was  a  scoffer,  and  he  mocked  at  their 
marvels  ;  but  Blackstone  maintained  that,  however 
absurd  their  pretensions  were,  they  had  gained  at 
least  a  glimpse  of  the  truth.  He  said  that  there 
were  those  alive  now  who  could  work  wonders 
more  mysterious  than  any  wrought  by  the  witch  of 
Endor.  I  remember  that  he  told  Sir  Kensington 
that  the  secret  archives  of  Paris  recorded  certain 
sharp  doings  of  Cagliostro  which  passed  all  ex- 
planation.' 

'  If  he  knew  so  much,'  asked  Charley  Sutton, 
'  why  didn't  he  know  enough  not  to  buck  against 
his  bad  luck  ? ' 

'  I  can  understand  that/  Robert  White  re- 
marked :  '  he  was  like  many  another  man — he  did 
not  believe  what  he  knew! 

'  Tell  them  about  the  dream,  Lance,'  said  Mrs. 
Jones. 

'  I'm  coming  to  that  now,'  answered  her  hus- 
band. '  I  have  not  yet  told  you  that,  in  spite  of 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  14? 

our  bad  weather  the  first  two  days  out,  we  had 
made  a  splendid  run — almost  the  best  on  record. 
By  Friday  evening  it  was  evident  that,  unless  there 
were  an  accident  of  some  sort,  we  should  get  inside  of 
Sandy  Hook  some  time  on  Saturday  night — pro- 
bably a  little  before  midnight.  So  on  Saturday 
morning  we  all  got  up  with  a  sense  of  relief  at  our 
early  delivery  from  our  floating  gaol.  You  have 
heard  of  the  saying  that  going  to  sea  is  as  bad  as 
going  to  prison,  with  the  added  chance  of  drown- 
ing ? ' 

'I  have  heard  the  saying,'  answered  Bob  White, 
indignantly — for  he  was  always  quick  to  praise  a 
seafaring  life — 'and  I  think  that  the  man  who 
said  it  was  not  born  to  be  drowned.' 

'I  believe  you  are  web- footed,' returned  Dear 
Jones :  '  most  of  us  are  not ;  and  we  were  delighted 
to  get  within  hail  of  the  coast.  It  was  a  lovely 
day,  and  the  sea  was  as  smooth  as  I  ever  saw  it. 
We  made  a  run  of  four  hundred  and  sixty-eight 
miles  at  noon  ;  we  took  our  pilot  one  hour  later  ; 
we  sent  up  our  rocket  and  burned  our  Roman 
candles  off  Fire  Island  about  nine  that  evening ; 
and  we  ran  inside  Sandy  Hook  a  little  after  eleven. 
Shortly  before  we  had  crossed  the  bar,  and  as  the 
lights  of  the  coast  were  beginning  to  get  more  and 
more  distinct,  Mr.  Blackstone  joined  me,  while  I 
was  standing  near  the  captain's  room.  The  light 
from  the  electric  lamps  on  the  stairs  fell  on  his 
head,  and  I  marked  the  same  uncanny  smile  which 
had  played  about  his  face  when  he  rose  from  the 


148  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

card-table  after  losing  his  money  the  day  before. 
We  walked  the  length  of  the  ship  two  or  three 
times,  exchanging  commonplaces  about  America. 
I  found  that  he  had  never  been  out  of  England 
before  ;  but  he  had  improved  his  time  on  the  boat, 
for  he  had  already  mastered  the  topography  of 
Manhattan  Island  and  of  New  York  Bay.  He 
asked  me  how  close  we  should  come  to  the  shore 
when  we  entered  the  Hook,  and  whether  we  should 
anchor  at  Quarantine  in  mid-stream  or  alongside  a 
dock.  When  I  had  answered  his  questions  as  best  I 
could,  he  was  silent  for  a  little  space.  Then,  sud- 
denly, as  we  came  to  the  end  of  the  ship,  he  stopped, 
and  asked  me  if  I  were  superstitious.  I  laughed, 
and  answered  that  I  was  like  the  man  who  did 
not  believe  in  ghosts  but  was  afraid  of  them.  "  I 
thought  so,"  he  returned.  "  I  thought  you  were 
not  one  of  the  narrow  and  self-satisfied  souls  who 
believe  only  what  they  can  prove,  and  who  cannot 
imagine  circumstances  under  which  two  and  two 
may  not  make  four.  Now,  I  am  superstitious — 
if  a  belief  in  omens,  dreams,  and  other  manifesta- 
tions of  the  unseen  can  fairly  be  called  a  super- 
stition. I  cannot  help  lending  credence  to  these 
things,  for  every  event  of  my  life  has  taught  me  to 
rely  on  the  warnings  and  the  promises  I  receive 
from  the  unknown.  I  do  not  always  understand 
the  message  ;  but  if  I  disobey  it  when  I  do  com- 
prehend, I  am  sorely  punished.  I  had  a  dream 
last  night  which  I  cannot  interpret.  Perhaps  you 
may  help  me."  I  confess  that  I  was  impressed 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  149 

by  his  earnestness ;  and,  not  without  a  share  of 
curiosity,  I  told  him  I  should  be  glad  to  listen.  He 
transfixed  me  with  another  rapid  glance,  and  then 
he  said,  "  This  was  my  dream.  I  dreamed  that  it 
was  to-morrow  morning, — Sunday  morning, — and 
that  I  was  in  New  York.  I  was  reading  a  news- 
paper :  there  is  a  paper  in  New  York  called  the 
'Gotham  Gazette'?"  I  told  him  that  there  was 
such  a  journal.  "  Is  it  published  on  Sunday  ? "  he 
asked.  I  explained  that  it  sold  more  copies  on 
Sunday  than  on  any  other  day  of  the  week.' 

'  One  hundred  and  thirty-seven  thousand  last 
Sunday,'  interrupted  Robert  White,  smiling,  '  ac- 
cording to  the  sworn  statement  of  the  foreman  of 
the  press-room  :  advertisers  will  do  well,  et  cetera, 
et  cetera.' 

'  For  particulars,  see  small  bills,'  added  Charley 
Sutton. 

Dear  Jones  paid  no  attention  to  these  unneces- 
sary remarks. 

'  Blackstone  repeated,"'  he  continued,  '  that  he 
dreamt  he  was  in  New  York  on  Sunday  morning 
reading  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  ; "  and  he  told  me  he 
had  been  trying  all  day  to  remember  exactly  what 
it  was  he  had  read  in  it,  but  his  recollections  were 
vague,  and  he  could  recall  with  precision  only  four 
passages  from  the  paper.  "  You  know,"  he  said  to 
me, "how  old  and  solid  the  house  of  Blough  Brothers 
and  Company  is  ? "  I  answered  that  I  knew  that 
they  were  as  safe  a  bank  as  could  be  found  in 
Lombard  Street.  "The  first  thing  I  read  in  the 


ISO  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

'  Gotham  Gazette '  of  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  was  a 
message  from  London  announcing  that  Blough 
Brothers  and  Company  had  failed  the  day  before — 
that  is,  to-day,  Saturday."  I  laughed  easily,  and 
told  him  that  he  ought  not  to  give  a  second  thought 
to  a  dream  as  wild  as  his,  for  I  supposed  that 
Blough  Brothers  and  Company  were  as  safe  as  the 
Bank  of  England.  He  shot  another  sharp  glance 
through  me,  and  answered,  after  a  second's  hesita- 
tion, that  stranger  things  had  happened  than  the 
failure  of  Blough  Brothers  and  Company.  Then 
he  went  on  to  tell  me  the  second  of  the  things  he 
was  able  to  recall  from  his  vague  memory  of  the 
"  Gotham  Gazette  "  of  Sunday  morning.  You  re- 
member the  great  steam -yacht  race — the  inter- 
national match  between  Joshua  Hoffman's  "  Rha- 
damanthus  "  and  the  English  boat  the  "  Skyrocket"? 
Well,  that  race  was  to  come  off  that  very  Saturday : 
it  had  been  decided  probably  only  five  or  six  hours 
before  our  talk.  Blackstone  told  me  that  he  had 
read  a  full  account  of  it  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  " 
of  the  next  day,  and  that  it  had  been  an  even  race, 
but  that  from  the  start  the  American  yacht  had  led 
a  little,  and  that  the  English  boat  had  been  beaten 
by  less  than  ten  minutes.  The  third  thing  he  had 
read  in  the  paper  was  a  review  of  a  book.  "  I 
think  I  have  heard  you  refer  to  Mr.  Rudolph 
Vernon,  the  poet,  as  a  friend  of  yours  ?  "  he  asked. 
I  said  I  knew  Vernon,  and  that  I  expected  to  read 
his  new  poem  as  soon  as  it  was  published.  "  It  is 
called  '  An  Epic  of  Ghosts,'  and  there  was  a  long 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  151 

criticism  of  it  in  the  '  Gotham  Gazette,' "  said 
Blackstone — "  a  criticism  which  began  by  calling 
it  one  of  the  most  peculiar  of  poems  and  by  declar- 
ing that  its  effect  on  the  reader  was  ghastly  rather 
than  ghostly." ' 

'And  he  told  you  this  the  night  before  you 
arrived?'  asked  Robert  White,  very  much  interested. 
'  Why ' 

'  Let  me  tell  my  tale,'  answered  Dear  Jones  : 
'  you  can  cross-question  me  afterwards.  I  shall 
not  be  long  now.' 

'  And  what  was  the  fourth  item  he  remem- 
bered ? '  the  Duchess  inquired. 

'  The  fourth  item,'  Dear  Jones  responded,  '  was 
a  paragraph  announcing  the  arrival  in  New  York 
of  the  steamship  "  Barataria  " — the  boat  in  the 
stern  of  which  we  were  then  standing — and  noting 
that  one  of  the  passengers  was  mysteriously  miss- 
ing, having  apparently  committed  suicide  by  jump- 
ing overboard  the  night  before.  With  involuntary 
haste  I  asked  him  the  name  of  this  passenger.  "  It 
was  not  given  in  the  newspaper,"  he  answered,  "  or, 
if  it  was,  I  cannot  recall  it."  We  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment silently  side  by  side,  gazing  at  the  phospho- 
rescent wake  of  the  ship.  The  second  officer,  Mr. 
Macdonough,  came  aft  just  then,  and  I  walked 
back  with  him  to  return  a  book  I  had  borrowed. 
I  found  my  wife  had  gone  to  bed  ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  I  was  asleep,  having  given  little  heed  to 
Blackstone's  dream,  vividly  as  he  had  recited  its 
unusual  circumstances.  The  next  morning  we 


152  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

were  busied  with  the  wearying  preliminaries  of  dis- 
embarking, and  I  did  not  notice  the  absence  of 
Blackstone  from  the  breakfast  table.  When  we 
had  been  warped  into  dock  and  had  signed  our 
papers  before  the  custom-house  officials,  we  left  the 
boat  and  went  down  on  the  wharf  to  wait  for  our 
trunks,  seven  of  which  were  at  the  very  bottom  of 
the  hold.  A  newsboy  offered  me  the  Sunday 
papers,  and  I  bought  the  "  Gotham  Gazette."  The 
first  words  that  met  my  eye  were  the  headlines  of 
a  cable  message  :  "  Heavy  Failure  in  London — 
Sudden  Stoppage  of  Blough  Brothers  and  Com- 
pany." The.  next  thing  I  saw  was  an  account  of 
the  great  steam-yacht  race.  As  you  know,  the 
"  Rhadamanthus  "  had  beaten  the  "  Skyrocket "  by 
eight  minutes.  I  could  not  but  recall  Blackstone's 
dream,  and  I  instantly  tore  the  newspaper  open, 
that  I  might  see  if  there  were  a  review  of  Rudolph 
Vernon's  "  Epic  of  Ghosts  ; "  and  there  it  was. 
The  criticism  began  by  calling  it  the  most  peculiar 
of  poems  and  by  saying  that  its  effect  was  ghastly 
rather  than  ghostly.  Then  I  searched  for  the 
fourth  item  of  the  dream.  But  I  could  not  find  it. 
That  one  alone  of  the  four  things  he  had  told  me 
was  not  in  the  paper.  There  was  nothing  about 
the  "  Barataria  "  but  the  formal  announcement  of 
our  arrival  in  the  column  of  shipping  news.  Al- 
though the  fourth  item  was  not  to  be  found,  the 
presence  of  the  other  three  was  startling  enough, 
it  seemed  to  me,  and  I  thought  that  Blackstone 
would  be  interested  to  see  the  real  "  Gotham 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  153 

Gazette  "  of  Sunday  morning,  that  he  might  com- 
pare it  with  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  "  he  had  read  in 
his  dream.  I  looked  about  on  the  dock,  but  he 
was  not  visible.  I  went  back  on  the  boat,  but  I 
could  not  lay  eyes  on  him.  I  asked  our  table- 
steward  and  others,  but  no  one  had  seen  him.  At 
last  I  went  to  Mr.  Macdonough,  the  second  officer, 
to  inquire  his  whereabouts.  Before  I  had  more 
than  mentioned  Blackstone's  name,  Mr.  Mac- 
donough became  very  serious.  "  I  cannot  tell  you 
where  Mr.  Blackstone  is,  for  I  do  not  know,"  he 
said  :  "  in  fact,  nobody  knows.  He  is  missing. 
It  is  quite  a  mystery  what  has  become  of  him. 
He  has  not  been  seen  since  we  left  him  last  night 
—  you  and  I.  So  far  as  I  can  judge,  we  were  the 
last  to  speak  to  him  or  to  see  him.  All  trace  of 
him  is  lost  since  we  walked  forward  last  night, 
leaving  him  standing  in  the  stern  of  the  ship.  He 
did  not  sleep  in  his  state-room,  so  his  steward 
says.  We  do  not  wish  to  think  that  he  has  jumped 
overboard,  but  I  must  confess  it  looks  like  it.  Did 
he  ever  say  anything  to  you  which  makes  you 
think  he  might  commit  suicide?"  I  answered 
that  I  could  recall  nothing  pointing  towards  self- 
destruction.  "  He  was  a  queer  man,"  said  Mr. 
Macdonough,  "a  very  queer  man,  and  I  fear  we 
shall  never  see  him  again."  And,  so  far  as  I  know, 
nobody  has  ever  seen  him  again.' 

As  Dear  Jones  came  to  the  end  of  his  story^  the 
rattling  train  plunged  into  a  long  tunnel. 


154  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 


III. 

WHEN  the  train  at  last  shook  itself  out  of  the 
tunnel,  Robert  White  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence. 

'  To  sum  up,'  he  said  to  Dear  Jones,  '  this  man 
who  called  himself  Blackstone  told  you  on  Saturday 
evening  four  things  which  he  had  dreamt  would  be 
in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette "  of  Sunday  morning. 
Three  of  these  things  were  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  " 
and,  while  the  fourth  item  was  absent  from  the 
newspaper,  the  suicide  it  recorded  had  apparently 
taken  place  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  answered  Dear  Jones. 

'How  do  you  account  for  this  extraordinary 
manifestation  of  the  power  of  second-sight  operating 
during  sleep  ?  '  White  asked. 

Dear  Jones  replied,  shortly : 

'  Oh,  I  do  not  account  for  it.' 

'  What  have  you  to  suggest  ?  '  White  inquired. 

'  I  haven't  anything  to  suggest,'  Dear  Jones 
answered.  '  I  have  given  you  the  facts  as  I  know 
them  Every  man  is  free  to  interpret  them  to 
please  himself.  I  tell  the  tale  only :  I  have  not 
hinted  at  any  explanation,  either  natural  or  super- 
natural.' 

'  Perhaps  Mr.  White  can  unravel  the  mystery,' 
said  Mrs.  Jones,  with  just  a  tinge  of  acerbity  in  her 
manner. 

'  No,'   White   returned,   thus   attacked    in    the 


PERCHANCE    TO   DREAM  155 

flank — 'no,  I  have  no  explanation  to  offer — at 
least,  not  until  I  have  fuller  information.' 

'  I  have  emptied  myself  of  the  facts  in  the  case,' 
retorted  Dear  Jones,  '  and  a  cider-press  couldn't 
get  any  more  details  out  of  me.' 

With  an  amiable  desire  to  pour  oil  on  waters 
which  might  be  troubled,  the  Duchess  remarked, 
pleasantly,  '  I  think  Dear  Jones  has  told  us  a  most 
interesting  story,  and  I'm  sure  we  ought  to  be 
obliged  to  him.' 

Dear  Jones  arose  and  bowed  his  thanks.  Just 
then  the  train  went  sharply  around  a  curve,  and 
Dear  Jones  resumed  his  seat  in  the  car  with  awk- 
ward promptness.  As  he  sat  down,  Robert  White 
looked  up  at  him  musingly.  At  length  he  spoke  : 

'  You  say  the  man  called  himself  Blackstone  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

'  He  was  a  peculiar- looking  man,  you  say,' 
Robert  White  continued,  '  and  yet  you  could  not 
declare  wherein  his  oddity  lay.  He  was  of  medium 
size,  a  little  under  the  average  height,  and  a  little 
inclined  to  be  stout.  He  was  about  fifty  years  old. 
He  wore  a  black  wig.  He  had  a  very  white  face. 
His  dark  eyes  were  restless  when  they  were  not 
fixed  in  a  vague  stare — 

'  Why,'  cried  Dear  Jones,  '  how  did  you  know 
that?' 

'  He  had  a  long,  full  beard,'  Robert  White  went 
on  ;  when  Dear  Jones  broke  in  again  : 

'  Oh,  no  :  he  was  clean-shaven.' 

'  Ah  ! '  said    Robert   White,  '  perhaps   he  had 


156  PERCHANCE    TO  DREAM 

removed  his  beard  to  change  his  appearance.  Did 
he  have  the  blue  chin  one  sees  in  a  man  whose  face 
is  naturally  hairy  ?  ' 

'  He  had,'  answered  Dear  Jones ;  '  and  the 
deadly  pallor  of  his  cheeks  made  this  azure  of  his 
jaw  more  obvious.' 

'  I  am  inclined  to  think,'  Robert  White  said, 
slowly — '  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  man  who 
told  you  his  alleged  dream,  and  who  called  him- 
self Blackstone,  was  John  Coke,  the  chief  clerk  and 
confidential  manager  of  Blough  Brothers  and  Com- 
pany - 

'  The  firm  that  failed  ? '  the  Duchess  asked. 

'  Precisely,'  was  the  answer  ;  '  and  he  was  the 
cause  of  the  failure — he  and  Braxton  Blough,  a 
younger  son  of  the  senior  partner.  They  both 
absconded  on  the  Saturday  before  the  failure — the 
Saturday  you  sailed  :  Coke  could  easily  have  left 
London  with  the  mail  and  joined  you  at  Queens- 
town.  I  took  a  great  interest  in  the  case,  for  my 
father-in-law  lost  a  lot  of  money  he  had  sent  over 
to  be  used  in  operating  in  the  London  Stock  Ex- 
change.' 

'  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were  right  in  your 
supposition,  Bob,'  said  Charley  Sutton  ;  '  and  of 
course  if  the  man  had  cleaned  out  Blough  Brothers 
and  Company  he  could  make  a  pretty  close  guess 
when  they  were  likely  to  suspend.  Besides,  Black- 
stone  is  just  the  sort  of  slantindicular  name  a  man 
called  Coke  would  take.' 

'  Coke  ? '  repeated  the  Duchess  ;  '  Coke  ?     Isn't 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  157 

that  the  name  of  the  Englishman  Mr.  Hitchcock 
used  to  talk  to  us  about  in  London  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  answered  Mrs.  Jones  ;  '  I  think  I  have 
heard  Mr.  Hitchcock  speak  of  a  Mr.  Coke.' 

'  White  looked  up  quickly  with  a  smile.  '  Do 
you  mean  Mat  Hitchcock  ?  ' 

'  Mr.  C.  Mather  Hitchcock  is  the  gentleman  I 
mean,'  replied  Mrs.  Martin. 

'Ah  !'  said  White  significantly. 

'  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  him  last  summer  in 
London,  and  I  heard  him  speak  of  a  Mr.  Coke 
several  times.  I  think  he  said  he  was  the  manager 
or  director  or  something  of  Blough  Brothers  and 
Company.  I  know  he  told  me  that  Mr.  Coke  was 
the  best  judge  of  sherry  and  of  poetry  in  all  Eng- 
land. I  own  I  thought  the  conjunction  rather  odd.' 

'  Mrs.  Martin,'  said  Robert  White,  '  you  have 
given  us  the  explanation  of  another  of  the  predic- 
tions in  the  alleged  Mr.  Blackstone's  alleged  dream. 
I  happen  to  know  that,  owing  to  a  set  of  curious 
circumstances,  little  Mat  Hitchcock  wrote  the 
review  of  the  "  Epic  of  Ghosts"  which  appeared  in 
the  "  Gotham  Gazette." ' 

'  And  you  think  he  showed  what  he  had  written 
to  Coke  before  he  sent  it  off  to  the  paper  ? '  asked 
Dear  Jones. 

'  Isn't  it  just  like  him  ?  '  White  returned. 

Dear  Jones  smiled,  and  answered  that  Mat 
Hitchcock  was  both  leaky  and  conceited,  and  that 
he  probably  did  show  his  review  to  everybody 
within  range. 


158  PERCHANCE   TO   DREAM 

'  But  how  did  this  Mr.  Blackstone  know  that 
the  review  would  appear  on  that  particular  Sunday 
morning  ?  '  asked  Mrs.  Jones,  with  a  slightly  ag- 
gressive scepticism. 

4  He  didn't  know  it,'  answered  White  ;  '  he  just 
guessed  it ;  and  it  was  not  so  very  remarkable  a 
guess  either,  if  he  knew  when  the  review  was 
posted  in  London,  as  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  "  prints 
book-notices  only  on  Sundays.' 

4  Still,  it  was  a  most  extraordinary  dream,'  said 
the  Duchess,  with  dignity,  not  altogether  approving 
of  any  attempt  to  explain  away  anything  purport- 
ing to  be  supernatural. 

4  The  failure  of  Blough  Brothers  and  Company 
was  remarkable,  if  you  like,'  Robert  White  con- 
tinued. *  The  house  was  more  than  a  century  old  ; 
it  held  the  highest  position  in  Lombard  Street ;  it 
was  supposed  to  be  conservative  and  safe ;  and  yet 
for  the  past  five  years  it  had  been  little  better  than 
an  empty  shell.  This  man  Coke  was  allowed  to 
do  pretty  much  as  he  pleased  ;  and  he  and  Braxton 
Blough,  the  younger  son  of  old  Sir  Barwood 
Blough,  the  head  of  the  house,  were  as  thick  as 
thieves — I  use  the  phrase  advisedly.' 

4  Thank  you,'  said  Mrs.  Jones,  with  a  chilly 
smile. 

'They  speculated  in  stocks,'  Robert  White 
pursued  ;  '  they  loaded  themselves  up  with  cats 
and  dogs  ;  they  took  little  fliers  in  such  inflam- 
mable material  as  Turkish  and  Egyptian  bonds  ; 
and  they  went  on  the  turf  together.  They  owned 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  159 

race-horses  together  as  "  Mr.  Littleton  ; "  and  that's 
another  bit  of  evidence  that  your  Mr.  Blackstone 
was  really  this  man  Coke.  You  see  ?  Coke — 
Littleton— Blackstone  ? ' 

'  I  see,'  answered  Dear  Jones. 

'  When  the  game  was  up,  there  was  a  warrant 
out  for  Coke,  but  he  had  been  gone  for  a  week. 
It  was  supposed  he  had  run  over  to  Paris  ;  but 
that  must  have  been  a  mere  blind  of  his,  since 
he  came  over  here  on  the  "  Barataria  "  with  you.' 

1  He  came  over  with  me,'  said  Dear  Jones, 
quietly,  '  but  he  did  not  land  with  me.' 

'  Poor  Braxton  Blough  had  been  led  astray  by 
Coke,  who  tempted  him  and  got  him  in  his  power 
and  kept  him  under  his  thumb.  When  the  bubble 
burst  he  disappeared  too,  and  it  is  supposed  that 
he  took  the  Queen's  shilling  and  is  now  a  private 
at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  He  wasn't  in  England 
when  poor  old  Sir  Barwood  Blough  died  of  a 
broken  heart.  Braxton  had  always  been  his  fa- 
vourite son,  and  he  had  spared  the  rod  and  spoiled 
the  child.' 

'  Braxton  Blough  ? '  repeated  the  Duchess. 
'  Surely  I  have  met  a  man  of  that  name ;  and  I 
think  it  was  at  the  dinner  Lord  Shandygaff  gave 
us  at  Greenwich.' 

'  I  remember  him  now,'  broke  in  Dear  Jones — 
'  a  dark,  gipsy-looking  fellow.  I  know  I  remarked 
on  the  difference  between  him  and  Lord  Sharfdy- 
gaff,  who  was  the  very  type  of  an  Irish  sportsman, 
with  all  that  the  word  implies.' 


160  PERCHANCE    TO  DREAM 

Robert  White  whistled. 

'  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  cried,  hastily,  as 
Mrs.  Martin  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  'You 
will  forgive  me  when  I  explain.  Now  we  have 
stumbled  on  something  really  extraordinary.  You 
know  those  odd  little  Japanese  puzzles — just  a  lot 
of  curiously-shaped  bits  which  you  can  fit  together 
into  a  perfect  square  ? ' 

'  I  have  known  them  from  my  youth  up,' 
answered  Dear  Jones,  dryly  ;  '  and  I  see  nothing 
extraordinary  in  them.' 

4 1  refer  to  them  only  as  an  illustration,'  Robert 
White  returned.  '  You  tell  us  a  tale  of  a  dream 
and  its  fulfilment ;  you  set  forth  a  puzzle,  but  there 
are  several  little  bits  wanting  ;  the  square  is  not 
perfect ;  there  is  a  hole  in  the  centre.  Now,  as  it 
happens,  we  here  who  have  heard  the  tale  can  com- 
plete the  square.  We  can  fill  the  hole  in  the 
centre,  for  we  chance  to  have  concealed  about  our 
persons  the  little  bits  which  were  missing.  And 
Mrs.  Martin  has  just  produced  one  of  them.  You 
met  Mr.  Braxton  Blough  at  a  dinner  given  by 
Lord  Shandygaff;  and  it  was  natural  that  you 
should,  for  the  two  men  had  many  tastes  in  com- 
mon, and  I  have  heard  that  they  were  very  inti- 
mate. Indeed,  next  to  Coke,  Lord  Shandygaff  was 
Braxton  Blough's  closest  friend.  And  this  provides 
us  with  a  possible  explanation  of  another  of  the 
alleged  predictions  in  the  alleged  dream  of  the 
alleged  Blackstone.' 

'  How  so  ?  '  asked  Charley  Sutton. 


PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM  161 

*  I  confess  I  don't  see  it,'  said  Dear  Jones. 

'That's  because  you  do  not  know  the  secret 
history  of  the  steam-yacht  race,'  Robert  White 
answered.  '  Lord  Shandygaff  is  the  owner  of  the 
"  Skyrocket "  ;  he  is  a  betting  man  ;  he  was  in  New 
York  for  a  fortnight  before  the  race  came  off ;  and 
yet  he  did  not  back  his  boat  as  though  he  believed 
she  would  win.  Now,  I  have  been  told,  and  I 
believe,  that  when  the  match  had  been  made  and 
the  money  put  up,  a  rumour  of  the  speed  made  by 
the  "  Rhadamanthus "  in  a  private  trial  over  a 
measured  mile,  after  Joshua  Hoffman  had  put  in 
those  new  boilers,  reached  the  ears  of  the  owner  of 
the  "  Skyrocket."  It  is  said  that  Lord  Shandygaff 
then  had  a  private  trial  of  his  yacht  over  a  mea- 
sured mile  under  similar  conditions  of  wind  and 
weather  as  that  of  the  "  Rhadamanthus,"  and  he  dis- 
covered, to  his  disappointment  and  disgust,  that  his 
boat  was  going  to  be  beaten.  I  have  understood 
that  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  then  and  there,  that 
he  was  going  to  lose  the  race  and  his  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars— unless  there  should  be  a  stiff 
gale  of  wind  when  the  match  came  off,  in  which 
case  he  thought  he  might  have  a  fair  chance  of 
winning.' 

'Well?'  asked  Charley  Sutton,  as  Robert 
White  paused. 

'  Well,'  said  White,  '  if  what  I  have  stated  on 
information  and  belief  is  true,  if  Lord  Shandygaff 
believed  that  his  boat  would  be  beaten,  his  intimate 


1 62  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

friend  Braxton  Blough  would  not  be  kept  in  the 
dark  ;  and  whatever  light  Braxton  Blough  might 
have  he  would  share  with  his  intimate  friend  Coke. 
Therefore  your  friend  the  alleged  Blackstone,  when 
he  told  you  his  alleged  dream  on  Saturday,  the  day 
of  the  race,  knew  that  there  was  smooth  water  and 
a  light  breeze  only,  and  that  therefore  the  "  Rhada- 
manthus  "  had  probably  beaten  the  "  Skyrocket " 
from  start  to  finish.' 

'  I  see,'  said  Charley  Sutton,  meditatively. 

Mrs.  Jones  looked  at  Mr.  White  with  not  a 
little  dissatisfaction,  saying — 

'You  have  tried  very  hard  to  explain  away  this 
Mr.  Blackstone's  dream  as  far  as  the  failure  of 
Blough  Brothers  and  Company  is  concerned,  and 
the  review  of  Mr.  Vernon's  book,  and  the  race  be- 
tween the  "  Rhadamanthus"and  the  "  Skyrocket "  ; 
but  how  do  you  account  for  the  suicide  ? ' 

'  How  do  you  know  there  was  any  suicide  ? ' 
asked  Robert  White,  with  a  slight  smile. 

'  It  was  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette " — your  own 
paper,'  she  said,  with  ill-concealed  triumph. 

1  It  was  in  the  "  Gotham  Gazette  "  which  Coke 
said  he  had  seen  in  a  vision,'  White  returned  ; 
'  but  I  do  not  think  it  was  ever  in  any  "  Go- 
tham Gazette  "  sent  out  from  our  office  in  Park 
Row.' 

'  But  I  thought '  began  Mrs.  Jones,  when 

her  husband  interrupted. 

'  I'm  afraid  it  is  no  use  arguing  with  White,'  he 


PERCHANCE    TO  DREAM  163 

said  :  c  he  seems  to  have  all  the  facts  at  his  fingers' 
ends.' 

'  Thank  you,'  White  rejoined.  '  I  wish  I  had 
my  fingers'  ends  on  Coke's  collar.' 

'  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you,'  said 
Dear  Jones.  '  Where  is  he  ?  ' 

'  How  do  I  know  ?  '  returned  White. 

'  What  do  you  think  ?  '  Dear  Jones  asked. 

'  I  don't  know  what  to  think,'  answered  Robert 
White  ;  '  the  facts  fail  me.  Probably  the  "  Bara- 
taria  "  was  not  very  far  from  shore  when  she  an- 
chored off  Quarantine  that  night,  soon  after  you 
and  Mr.  Macdonough  left  him  in  the  stern  of  the 
ship  ? ' 

'We  were  within  pistol-shot  of  the  health 
officer's  dock,  I  suppose,'  replied  Dear  Jones. 

'  Then,'  said  Robert  White,  '  perhaps  Coke 
jumped  overboard  and  swam  ashore,  and  so  killed 
the  trail  by  taking  water.  We  have  an  extradition 
treaty  with  Great  Britain,  and  he  may  have  told 
you  his  dream  so  that  you  could  bear  witness  in 
case  he  was  tracked  by  the  detectives.  Perhaps, 
however,  he  told  you  the  truth  when  he  told  you 
his  dream.' 

'  I  shall  always  believe  that,'  Mrs.  Jones  re- 
marked. 

'  So  shall  I,'  said  Mrs.  Martin.  '  It  is  very  un- 
pleasant to  destroy  one's  faith  in  anything.  It  is 
so  much  better  to  believe  all  one  can  :  at  least  that 
is  my  opinion.' 


1 64  PERCHANCE   TO  DREAM 

This  opinion  was  handed  down  by  the  Duchess 
with  an  air  which  implied  that  no  appeal  could  be 
taken. 

Robert  White  wisely  held  his  peace. 

Then  the  train  slackened  before  stopping  at  the 
station  where  Mrs.  Martin's  carriage  was  awaiting 
them. 


PERTURBED    SPIRITS 


PERTURBED   SPIRITS. 

I. 

WHEN  it  was  announced  that  Mr.  Francis  Mere- 
dith had  been  appointed  secretary  to  the  council 
of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society,  the  friends  of 
the  other  candidates  for  that  office  were  violently 
indignant,  and  declared  that  the  appointment  was 
one  conspicuously  unfit  to  be  made.  The  friends 
of  Mr.  Francis  Meredith  smiled  pleasantly  as  they 
protested  mildly  in  his  behalf ;  they  said  that  he 
would  do  very  well  after  he  mastered  the  duties  of 
the  post,  and  that  the  work  was  not  onerous,  even 
for  a  man  wholly  unused  to  any  regular  occupa- 
tion ;  but  while  they  were  saying  with  their  tongues 
that  Fanny  Meredith  was  a  good  fellow,  in 
their  hearts  they  were  wondering  how  a  round 
young  man  would  manage  in  a  square  hole.  From 
this  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  opponents  of  the 
appointment  were  altogether  in  the  right,  and  that 
one  fortunate  man  owed  the  place  to  a  freak  of 
favouritism. 

It  may  serve  to  indicate  the  character  of  Mr. 
Francis  Meredith  to  record  that  to  his  intimates  he 
was  known,  not  as  Frank,  but  as  Fanny.  He  was 


1 68  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

a  charming  and  most  ladylike  young  man,  who 
toiled  not  neither  did  he  spin.  He  owed  his  ex- 
emption from  labour  and  his  social  standing  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and 
she  a  widow  of  large  wealth.  He  had  managed, 
somehow  or  other,  to  creep  through  college  in  the 
course  of  five  years.  He  was  a  kindly  youth,  but 
heedless,  careless,  scatterbrained,  and  fixing  his 
mind  with  ease  only  on  the  one  object  of  his  exist- 
ence— the  conducting  of  a  cotillion.  To  conduct 
the  cotillion  decently  and  in  order  seemed  to 
Fanny  Meredith  to  be  the  crowning  glory  of  a  young 
gentleman's  career.  Unfortunately  his  mother's 
trustee  made  unwise  investments  and  died,  leaving 
his  affairs  curiously  entangled,  and  it  became  ne- 
cessary for  Meredith  to  do  something  for  himself. 
He  scorned  a  place  under  Government ;  besides,  he 
could  not  pass  the  examination  with  any  hope  of 
appointment.  As  it  happened,  Mrs.  Meredith's 
trustee  had  been  the  secretary  of  the  council  of  the 
Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society,  and  his  death  made 
it  possible  to  work  out  a  sort  of  poetic  justice  by 
giving  the  post  to  Fanny  Meredith. 

It  is  difficult  to  speak  without  awe  of  that 
august  conclave,  the  council  of  the  Saint  Nicholas 
Relief  Society.  During  the  original  Dutch  owner- 
ship of  Manhattan  Island,  and  before  New  Amster- 
dam experienced  a  change  of  heart  and  became 
New  York,  certain  worthy  burghers  of  the  city  had 
combined  in  a  benevolent  association  which  con- 
tinued its  labours  even  after  the  English  capture  of 


PERTURBED   SPIRITS  169 

the  colony  and  through  the  long  struggle  of  the 
Revolution.  When  at  last  New  York  was  firmly 
established  as  the  Empire  City,  no  one  of  its 
institutions  was  more  deeply  rooted  or  more 
abundantly  flourishing  than  the  Saint  Nicholas 
Relief  Society.  It  was  rich,  for  it  had  received 
lands  and  tenements  and  hereditaments  which  had 
multiplied  in  value  and  increased  in  income  with 
the  growth  of  the  city.  It  did  much  good.  It  was 
admirably  managed.  It  had  a  delightful  aroma  of 
antiquity,  denied  to  most  American  institutions. 
It  was  fashionable.  It  was  exclusive.  To  be  a 
member  of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society, was 
the  New  York  equivalent  to  the  New  England 
ownership  of  a  portrait  by  Copley — it  was  a  certi- 
ficate of  gentle  birth.  To  be  elected  to  the  council 
of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society  was  indis- 
putable evidence  that  a  man's  family  had  been  held 
in  honour  here  in  New  York  for  two  centuries. 
Just  as  the  court  circles  of  Austria  are  closed  to 
any  one  who  cannot  show  sixteen  quartering^,  so 
the  unwritten  law  of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief 
Society  forbade  the  election  to  the  council  of  any 
one  whose  ancestors  had  not  settled  in  Manhattan 
Island  before  it  surrendered  to  Colonel  Nicolls  in 
1664. 

Among  the  descendants  of  the  scant  fifteen 
hundred  inhabitants  of  New  Amsterdam  were  not 
a  few  shrewd  men  of  business.  The  affairs  of  -the 
Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society  were  always  ably 
and  adroitly  managed,  and  the  property  of  the 


170  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

society  was  well  administered.  Its  annual  revenues 
were  greatly  increased  by  a  yearly  ball  given  just 
before  Lent  allowed  the  ladies  of  fashion  time  to 
repent  of  their  sins.  This  public  ball — for  it  was 
public  practically,  as  any  man  might  enter  who 
could  pay  the  high  price  asked  for  a  ticket — being 
patronised  by  the  most  fashionable  ladies  of  New 
York,  was  always  crushingly  attended,  to  the  re- 
plenishment of  the  coffers  of  the  charity.  To  this 
public  ball  there  succeeded,  after  the  interval  of 
Lent,  a  private  dinner  of  the  council,  invariably 
given  on  the  Tuesday  in  Easter  week,  the  Tuesday 
after  Paas.  The  Dutch  word  still  lingers,  and  per- 
haps the  Paas  dinner  of  the  council  of  the  Saint 
Nicholas  Relief  Society  may  have  helped  to  keep  it 
alive  and  in  the  mouths  of  men. 

To  attend  to  the  annual  ball  and  to  the  Paas 
dinner  were  the  chief  duties  of  the  secretary  of  the 
council ;  it  is  possible  even  to  assert  that  these 
were  his  sole  duties.  He  had  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  management  of  the  society  ;  he  was 
the  secretary  of  the  council  only  ;  and  it  was  pre- 
cisely because  the  obligations  of  the  office  were 
little  more  than  ornamental  that  the  friends  of  Mr. 
Francis  Meredith  maintained  his  perfect  ability  to 
fulfil  them  satisfactorily.  He  had  been  elected  at 
the  January  meeting  of  the  council,  and  he  was 
told  to  exercise  a  general  supervision  over  the 
arrangements  of  the  ball,  which  was  to  take  place 
just  in  the  middle  of  February — on  Saint  Valen- 
tine's Day,  in  fact. 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  17  r 

'  I  wonder  how  Fanny  Meredith  will  make  out,' 
said  Mr.  Delancey  Jones,  when  he  heard  of  the 
appointment.  '  Fanny  Meredith  is  a  good-looking 
fellow,  and  a  good  fellow  too,  and  the  girls  all  say 
he  dances  divinely  ;  but  he  is  more  different  kinds 
of  a  fool  than  any  other  man  I  know  ! ' 

As  it  happened,  Fanny  Meredith  had  very  little 
to  do  with  the  ball,  but  he  did  that  little  wrong. 
He  blundered  in  every  inconceivable  manner  and 
with  the  most  imperturbable  good  humour.  He 
altered  the  advertisements,  for  one  thing,  just  as 
they  were  going  to  the  newspapers  and  without 
consultation  with  any  one  ;  and  the  next  morning 
the  members  of  the  council  were  shocked  to  see 
that  tickets  would  be  for  sale  at  the  door  until 
midnight — there  having  been  hitherto  a  pleasing 
convention  that  tickets  could  be  had  only  by  those 
vouched  for  by  members  of  the  society.  Then,  at 
the  February  meeting  of  the  council,  he  arose  with 
the  smile  of  a  man  about  to  impart  wisdom,  and 
suggested  that  as  the  clergymen  of  New  York 
were  always  willing  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to 
charity,  it  would  be  a  very  clever  device  if  they 
were  to  request  the  rectors  of  the  fashionable 
churches  to  make  from  the  altar  formal  announce- 
ment of  the  ball,  with  full  particulars  as  to  the 
price  of  tickets  and  the  persons  from  whom  these 
might  be  purchased.  And  when  the  night  of  Jthe 
ball  arrived  at  last,  and  Fanny  Meredith  was  re- 
quested to,  welcome  the  journalists  who  came  to 
'write  it  up'  and  to  provide  for  their  comfort, 


172  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

internal  and  external,  he  said  something  to  Harry 
Brackett,  who  had  been  sent  up  from  the  '  Gotham 
Gazette'  to  provide  a  picturesque  description  of 
the  ball,  to  be  supplemented  by  the  more  personal 
notes  of  the  '  society  reporter.'  Just  what  it  was 
that  Fanny  Meredith  said  to  Harry  Brackett  no 
one  has  ever  been  able  to  ascertain  exactly,  but, 
whatever  it  was,  it  took  the  journalist  completely 
by  surprise  ;  he  looked  at  the  secretary  of  the 
council  for  a  minute  in  dazed  astonishment,  and 
then,  his  sense  of  humour  overcoming  his  indigna- 
tion, he  said  slowly,  '  Somebody  must  have  left  a 
door  open  somewhere,  and  this  thing  blew  in  ! ' 

But  the  petty  errors  the  new  secretary  com- 
mitted at  the  ball  were  as  nothing  to  the  mighty 
blunder  he  made  at  the  Paas  dinner  of  the  council. 
The  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society  may  have  any 
number  of  annual  subscribers,  but  it  has  only  two 
hundred  members  elected  for  life.  From  these  two 
hundred  members  is  chosen  a  council  of  twenty- 
one.  Among  the  members  are  many  ladies,  and 
at  least  a  third  of  the  council  are  of  the  sex  which 
wear  ear-rings.  It  is  this  mingling  of  sharp  men 
and  clever  women  in  the  council  which  gives  its 
strength  to  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society.  In 
nothing  is  the  skill  of  the  management  shown  to 
more  advantage  than  in  the  choice  of  members  of 
the  council.  There  are  young  ladies,  there  are  old 
bachelors,  there  are  substantial  matrons,  and  there 
are  fathers  of  families  ;  and  they  dwell,  together  in 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  173 

unity,  so  far,  at  least,  as  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief 
Society  is  concerned.  A  meeting  of  the  council 
presents  a  sight  at  once  heterogeneous  and  charac- 
teristic. Possibly  it  is  this  variety  of  persons  and 
of  points  of  view  that  makes  the  council  of  the 
Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society  so  successful  as  it 
has  been  in  its  task  of  administering  wealth  and 
of  ministering  to  the  needy.  Certainly  the  dis- 
similarity of  character  and  the  unity  of  object  help 
to  make  the  annual  Paas  dinner  a  season  of  refresh- 
ment Most  of  the  members  of  the  council  are 
busy,  but  it  is  very  rare  indeed  for  one  of  them  to 
be  absent  from  his  seat  or  from  her  seat,  as  the 
case  may  be,  at  the  Paas  dinner. 

The  number  of  the  council  is  twenty-one,  and 
has  always  been  twenty-one.  Fanny  Meredith 
forgot  all  about  the  Paas  dinner  until  reminded  of 
it  less  than  a  week  before  Easter.  Then  he  rushed 
off  to  the  old-fashioned  restaurant  where  the 
dinner  was  always  given,  and  he  spent  four  hours 
there  in  the  ordering  of  a  proper  series  of  courses 
for  twenty-one  people.  He  had  seized  the  nearest 
annual  report  of  the  society,  and  he  gave  it  to  a 
copyist  with  a  score  of  blank  invitation  cards,  tell- 
ing her  to  send  them  out  to  the  members  of  the 
council,  in  accordance  with  a  list  printed  at  the 
end  of  the  report.  The  copyist  did  as  she  was 
bidden,  and  the  invitations  went  forth  by  ^the 
post. 

But  when  the  members  of  the  council  assembled 


174  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

on  the  evening  of  the  Tuesday  after  Easter  they 
were  only  thirteen  in  number.  They  waited  nearly 
an  hour  for  the  other  eight,  and  then  they  sat 
down  ill  at  ease.  While  they  were  yet  eating 
their  oysters  Mr.  Francis  Meredith  came  in  to  gaze 
on  his  handiwork.  Mr.  Jacob  Leisler,  jun.,  asked 
him  if  he  had  sent  all  the  invitations. 

'  Of  course  I  did/  he  answered  ;  '  you  don't 
think  I  could  make  a  mistake  about  a  little  thing 
like  that,  do  you  ? ' 

To  this  leading  question  there  was  no  answer  ; 
so  Meredith  continued,  taking  a  report  from  his 
pocket : 

'  I  wouldn't  trust  myself  to  write  them,  so  I 
gave  this  list  to  a  copyist,  and  I  put  all  the  enve- 
lopes in  the  post  myself.' 

*  Let  me  see  that  report,'  said  Mr.  Leisler, 
holding  out  his  hand.  Mr.  Jacob  Leisler,  jun.,  was 
the  chairman  of  the  finance  committee,  and  a  man 
speaking  with  authority.  On  the  present  occasion 
he  was  presiding. 

The  unsuspecting  Fanny  gave  him  the  pam- 
phlet. Mr.  Leisler  glanced  at  it,  read  the  list  of 
the  council,  turned  to  the  date  on  the  title-page, 
and  then  inquired  calmly  : 

'  Mr.  Meredith,  do  you  know  when  this  report 
was  printed  ? ' 

'  Last  fall,  of  course,'  answered  the  secretary. 

'Just  twenty-two  years  ago  last  fall,'  Mr.  Leisler 
returned  ;  'so  if  you  have  invited  to  this  dinner 
here  to-night  the  council  whose  names  appear  in 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  175 

this  report,  you  have  not  asked  the  eight  absent 
members  who  are  alive,  and  you  have  asked  eight 
members  who  are  dead  !  And  that  accounts  for 
the  empty  chairs  here.' 

Fanny  Meredith  laughed  feebly,  and  then  he 
laughed  again  faintly.  At  last  he  murmured,  '  I 
seem  to  have  made  a  mistake.' 

As  he  shrank  away  towards  the  door,  amid  an 
embarrassed  silence,  Mr.  Leisler  whispered  harshly 
to  a  mature  and  sharp-featured  lady  who  sat  at 
his  right : 

'  And  we  seem  to  have  made  a  mistake  when 
we  elected  him  to  be  secretary  to  the  council.' 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  assent  from 
the  members  of  the  council,  in  which  nearly  all 
joined,  excepting  a  young  old  maid  with  frank 
eyes  and  cheerful  countenance,  who  was  sitting 
about  half-way  down  the  dinner-table,  with  a 
vacant  seat  by  her  side.  She  looked  at  the 
abashed  Fanny  Meredith  with  a  compassionate 
smile  of  encouragement. 

'  Since  you  have  not  attended  to  your  duty,' 
said  Mr.  Leisler  severely,  checking  the  helpless 
secretary  on  the  threshold,  '  since  you  have  not 
seen  that  the  other  members  of  the  council 
received  invitations,  of  course  they  will  not  come 
— we  cannot  expect  them.  We  must  dine  by  our- 
selves—thirteen at  table.  I  cannot  speak  for 
the  others,  but  to  me  it  is  most  unpleasanf  to 
see  those  eight  empty  chairs  ! ' 

As   the  crestfallen  Fanny  Meredith  retreated 


iy6  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

hastily  from  the  dining-room,  he  could  not  help 
hearing  this  rebuke  heartily  approved  by  the 
council. 

II. 

ALTHOUGH  Mr.  Jacob  Leisler,  jun.,  and  Mrs. 
Vedder,  the  energetic  lady  on  his  right,  and  Miss 
Mary  Van  Dyne,  the  pleasant-faced  old  maid 
farther  down  on  his  left,  and  Mr.  Joshua  Hoffman, 
who  sat  beside  her,  and  the  rest  of  the  thirteen 
members  of  the  council  who  were  present,  saw 
eight  empty  chairs,  which  made  awkward  gaps  in 
the  company  about  the  board — although  they 
could  count  only  thirteen  at  table,  it  is  to  be  re- 
corded that  in  reality  these  eight  chairs  were  not 
empty.  They  were  filled  by  those  to  whom  the 
cards  of  invitation  had  been  sent — the  former 
members  of  the  council,  dead  and  gone  in  the 
score  of  years  and  more  since  the  printing  of  the 
report  which  the  new"  secretary  had  used.  To  the 
eyes  of  the  living  the  eight  seats  were  vacant.  To 
the  eyes  of  one  who  had  power  to  see  the  spiritual 
and  intangible  they  were  occupied  by  those  who  had 
been  bidden  to  the  feast.  How  the  invitations  had 
reached  their  addresses  no  one  might  know,  but 
they  had  been  received,  and  they  had  been  ac- 
cepted ;  and  the  invited  guests  sat  at  the  council 
as  they  had  been  wont  to  sit  there  twenty-two 
years  before.  Perhaps  the  invitations  had  gone  to 
the  Dead  Letter  Office,  and  so  had  been  forwarded 
to  the  dead  whose  names  they  bore  ;  perhaps  they 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  177 

had  been  taken — but  speculation  is  idle.  It 
matters  not  how  or  by  whom  the  invitations  had 
been  delivered,  there  sat  the  ghostly  guests,  in 
their  places  around  the  dinner-table  of  the  council. 
There  they  sat  in  the  eight  chairs,  which  to  the 
eye  of  man  were  empty. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  the  dead  had  been 
bidden  to  this  feast  of  the  living.  It  was  the  first 
time  since  they  had  laid  down  the  burdens  of  this 
world  that  they  had  been  allowed  to  mingle  with 
their  friends  on  earth.  It  was  the  first  time — and 
they  feared  it  might  be  the  last,  and  they  were 
eager  to  make  the  most  of  their  good  fortune.  For 
a  long  while  they  sat  silently  listening  with  avidity 
to  all  stray  fragments  of  news  about  those  whom 
they  had  left  behind  them  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
Some  of  these  spectral  visitors  had  only  recently 
quitted  this  life,  and  perhaps  they  were  the  most 
anxious  to  learn  the  sayings  and  doings  of  those 
they  had  loved  and  left.  Some  of  them  had 
been  dead  for  years,  and  their  placid  faces  wore  a 
pleasant  expression  of  restful  and  comforting  tran- 
quillity. One  of  them,  a  handsome  young  fellow 
in  a  dark  blue  uniform  with  faded  shoulder-straps, 
had  fallen  twenty-two  years  before  in  the  repulse 
of  Pickett's  charge  at  Gettysburg.  Another  had 
gone  down  in  the  '  Ville  de  Nice '  in  the  Bay  of 
Biscay  in  1872.  A  third,  a  venerable  man  wjth 
silvery  hair  and  a  gentle  look  in  his  soft  gray  eyes, 
had  died  of  old  age  only  a  few  months  before. 
Mr.  Jacob  Leisler,  jun.,  sat  at  the  head  of  the 

N 


1 78  PERTURBED  •  SPIRITS 

table,  and  at  his  right  hand  was  Mrs.  Vender,  a 
square-faced  lady  of  an  uncertain  age,  with  grizzled 
hair  and  a  masterful  mouth.  The  chair  on  her 
right  was  apparently  empty,  to  her  evident  dis- 
satisfaction. Probably  her  annoyance  would  have 
been  acutely  increased  had  she  been  aware  that  the 
invisible  occupant  of  this  place  by  her  side  was 
Jesse  Van  Twiller,  her  first  husband,  dead  these 
ten  years  or  more,  during  eight  of  which  she  had 
been  another  man's  wife. 

Jesse  Van  Twiller  had  been  among  the  earliest 
to  arrive  ;  and  when  he  found  that  his  wife  was  to 
sit  next  to  him  he  was  delighted.  No  spook  ever 
wore  a  broader  smile  than  that  which  graced  his 
features  as  Mrs.  Vedder  took  her  place  at  table  by 
his  side.  But  his  joy  was  commingled  with  a  por- 
tion of  apprehension,  as  though  he  feared  his  wife 
as  much  as  he  loved  her.  He  was  a  little  man,  of 
a  nervous  temperament,  with  a  timid  look  arid  an 
expression  of  subdued  meekness,  as  though  he  was 
used  to  be  overridden  by  an  overbearing  woman. 
He  glanced  up  as  his  former  wife  sat  down.  He 
seemed  disconcerted  when  her  eyes  fell  on  him 
with  no  look  of  welcome  recognition.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  wondered  if  he  had  offended  her  in  any 
way  since  they  had  parted.  Then,  all  at  once,  he 
knew  that  she  had  not  seen  him  :  he  was  invisible 
to  mortal  eyes.  He  chafed  against  this  condition  ; 
he  wanted  her  to  see  him  and  to  know  how  glad 
he  was  to  see  her.  To  be  there  by  her  side,  to  be 
able  to  stretch  his  arm  about  her  waist  as  he  had 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  179 

done  in  the  days  of  yore,  to  long  to  fold  her  to  his 
heart  which  beat  for  her  alone,  and  to  be  powerless 
as  he  was  even  to  communicate  to  her  the  fact  of 
his  presence — this  was  most  painful.  The  poor 
ghost  felt  that  fate  was  hard  on  him.  He  would 
have  given  years  of  his  spectral  existence  for  two 
or  three  hours  of  human  life. 

These  were  his  feelings  at  first.  Then  he 
wondered  how  she  would  receive  him  if  she  knew 
he  were  in  her  presence.  He  gazed  at  her  intently 
as  though  to  read  her  thoughts.  She  was  older 
than  she  was  when  he  had  died — there  was  no 
doubt  about  that.  She  had  the  same  commanding 
mien,  the  same  superb  port,  the  same  majestic 
sweep  of  the  arm.  Yet  it  seemed  to  the  man  who 
had  left  her  a  widow  that  the  air  of  domineering 
determination  he  recalled  so  well  was  not  a  little 
softened  as  though  from  want  of  use.  '  She  has 
missed  me!'  he  said  to  himself.  'How  gladly 
would  I  have  her  scold  me  now  as  she  used  to 
scold  me  so  often,  if  only  she  could  see  me  !  She 
could  not  rebuke  me  for  being  late  this  time,  but 
she  could  easily  find  something  else  to  find  fault 
about.  I  shouldn't  care  how  much  she  bullied  me, 
so  long  as  I  could  tell  her  I  was  here.  And  then,' 
he  concluded  cautiously, '  if  she  made  it  too  hot  for 
me,  I  could  be  a  ghost  again,  and  she  would  be  so 
surprised  ! ' 

Just  then  Mr.  Leisler  spoke  to  the  spouse  6i 
the  spook. 

'  I  was  beginning  to  fear  that  we  might  be  de- 


I  So  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

prived  of  your  presence  too,  Mrs.  Vedder,'  he  said. 
1  Were  you  not  a  little  late  ? ' 

Jesse  Van  Twiller  looked  at  his  old  friend 
Leisler  in  the  greatest  surprise.  Why  had  he 
addressed  Mrs.  Van  Twiller  as  Mrs.  Vedder?  The 
first  husband  even  turned  and  looked  at  the  chair 
next  to  his,  on  the  chance  that  that  was  occupied 
by  the  lady  addressed  ;  but  Mr.  Leisler's  own  wife 
sat  there.  His  astonishment  increased  as  he  heard 
his  wife's  answer. 

'  Yes,'  she  said, '  we  were  late.  But  it  was  not 
my  fault.  The  doctor  is  a  most  unpunctual  man.' 

'The  doctor?'  thought  Van  Twiller.  'What 
doctor  ?  and  what  had  she  to  do  with  any  doctor  ? 
Had  she  been  ill  ?  She  seemed  to  be  in  robust 
health.' 

'  Dr.  Vedder  is  a  busy  man/  rejoined  Mr. 
Leisler, '  and  perhaps  he  cannot  control  his  time.' 

So  it  was  Dr.  Vedder  his  wife  had  been  waiting 
for.  Van  Twiller  looked  across  the  table  at  Dr. 
Vedder,  whom  he  knew  very  well  and  had  never 
liked.  Dr.  Vedder  was  a  sarcastic  man,  with  a 
sharp  tongue,  and  a  knack  of  saying  disagreeable 
things.  It  was  Dr.  Vedder  who  had  once  asserted 
that  Van  Twiller  had  no  more  sense  of  humour 
than  a  hand-organ.  Suddenly,  with  a  sharp  pang 
of  jealousy,  Van  Twiller  recalled  a  vague,  fleeting, 
and  half-forgotten  memory  of  Dr.  Vedder's  admira- 
tion for  Mrs.  Van  Twiller.  He  remembered  that 
the  doctor  had  once  declared  that  he  liked  a 
masterful  woman,  and  that  Mrs.  Van  Twiller  was 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  181 

a  Katharine  with  a  poor  Petruchio  quite  incapable 
of  taming  her. 

'  That's  no  reason  he  should  keep  his  wife 
waiting,'  said  the  former  Mrs.  Van  Twiller  plain- 
tively. 

'  His  wife  ! '  repeated  Van  Twiller  to  himself. 
'  Who  is  his  wife  ?  ' 

'  I  was  never  treated  in  that  way  by  my  first 
husband/  continued  the  lady. 

'  Her  first  husband  ! '  The  poor  ghost  shrank 
back.  At  last  he  saw  the  change  in  the  situation. 
His  wife  was  not  his  wife  any  more.  She  was  the 
wife  of  Dr.  Vedder,  a  man  whom  he  had  disliked 
always,  and  whom  now  he  hated.  He  was  seized 
by  a  burning  rage  of  jealousy,  but  he  was  powerless 
to  express  his  feelings.  His  condition  was  hard 
to  bear,  for  he  could  see,  he  could  hear,  he  could 
suffer,  and  he  could  do  nothing. 

As  Van  Twiller  was  thinking  this  out  hotly, 
the  sharp  voice  of  Dr.  Vedder  stabbed  him  suddenly. 

'  I  have  noticed,'  remarked  the  doctor,  who  was 
seated  exactly  opposite  his  wife's  first  husband, 
'  that  a  woman  always  thinks  more  highly  of  a  man 
after  he  is  dead  and  gone.  She  is  ready  enough 
to  praise  him  when  it  is  too  late  for  the  commenda- 
tion to  comfort  him.  I  believe  a  widow  doubly 
cherishes  the  memory  of  a  hen  pecked  husband.' 

With  the  suave  smile  of  a  conscious  peace- 
maker, who  sees  possible  offence  in  a  speech,  Mr. 
Leisler  said,  '  You  are  hard  on  the  widows, 
Doctor.' 


1 82  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

'  Not  at  all,'  the  doctor  answered,  with  a  dry 
little  wrinkle  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  '  not  at 
all.  I  am  a  scientific  observer,  making  logical 
deductions  from  a  multitude  of  facts.  To  the  man 
who  lives  out  West,  the  only  good  Indian  is  a  dead 
Indian  ;  so  to  the  widow,  the  only  good  husband  is 
the  dead  husband  ! ' 

*  I'm  sure/  cried  Mrs.  Vedder  indignantly,  'that 
Mr.  Van  Twiller  would  never  have  said  anything 
like  that.' 

'  Certainly  not,'  her  husband  replied.  '  Van 
Twiller  couldn't,  for  Van  Twiller  wasn't  a  scientific 
observer.' 

A  covert  sneer  in  Dr.  Vedder's  tone  as  he  said 
this  cut  little  Van  Twiller  to  the  soul,  and  again 
he  longed  for  material  hands  that  he  might  clutch 
his  rival  by  the  throat.  At  the  thought  of  his 
absolute  inability  to  do  aught  for  himself,  he 
shivered  with  despair. 

It  was  perhaps  some  frigid  emanation  from  Van 
Twiller  which  affected  Mrs.  Vedder's  nerves,  for 
she  shuddered  slightly  before  replying  to  her  hus- 
band. 

'  It  is  not  for  us  to  bandy  words  now  about 
Mr.  Van  Twiller's  attainments,'  she  remarked  de- 
liberately. '  He  was  truly  a  gentleman,  with  all 
the  mildness  of  a  gentleman,  quite  incapable  of 
giving  any  one  a  harsh  word  or  a  cross  look.' 

'  In  fact  he  had  absolutely  no  faults  at  all,' 
said  Dr.  Vedder  sarcastically.  But  if  he  could 
then  have  seen  the  expression  on  the  pallid  face  of 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  183 

his  predecessor,  he  would  have  been  in  a  position 
to  contradict  his  wife's  last  assertion. 

'  He  had  very  few  indeed  ! '  replied  his  wife  ; 
'  in  my  eyes  he  was  perfect ! ' 

She  paused  for  a  second,  and  Van  Twiller 
wished  that  she  had  believed  in  his  perfection 
while  he  was  alive.  Then  she  added  bitterly, 
'  To  know  him  was  to  love  him  ! ' 

The  dry  little  wrinkle  returned  to  the  corners 
of  Dr.  Vedder's  mouth  as  he  answered  quietly, 
'Perhaps  so — I  didn't  know  him  well !' 

And  again  the  poor  ghost  writhed  in  invisible 
anguish,  utterly  helpless  to  resent  the  insult. 

'I  remember  Mr.  Van  Twiller  distinctly,'  re- 
marked Mr.  Leisler  blandly  ;  '  he  was  an  easy- 
going and  good-natured  man,  with  a  kind  word  for 
everybody.' 

'  In  fact,  he  was  everybody's  friend,'  Dr.  Vedder 
returned, '  and  nobody's  enemy  but  his  own.  His 
best  quality  in  my  eyes  is  that  he  is  not  here  to- 
night.' 

The  doctor  could  not  know  that  the  little  man 
at  whom  he  was  girding  was  separated  from  him 
by  the  breadth  of  the  table  only,  and  was  suffering 
with  his  whole  being  as  every  sneer  reached  its 
mark  far  more  surely  than  he  who  shot  the  chance 
arrow  could  guess. 

*  You  are  bitter,'  said  Mr.  Leisler  easily  ;  '  I  fear 
you  are  a  misanthrope.' 

The  doctor  laughed  a  little,  and  answered,  'No, 
I'm  not  exactly  a  misanthrope  or  even  a  miso- 


184  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

gynist,  but  I  have  ceased  to  be  philanthropic  since 
I  discovered  that  man  is  descended  from  a 
monkey.' 

Mrs.  Vedder  was  about  to  make  a  hasty  reply 
to  this,  when  she  caught  the  doctor's  eye.  To  the 
surprise  of  Van  Twiller,  she  hesitated,  checked  her- 
self suddenly,  and  said  nothing.  He  wondered 
how  it  was  that  his  wife  had  changed  ;  he  knew 
that  she  had  never  quailed  before  his  eye ;  and  he 
found  himself  doubting  whether  he  would  not  have 
preferred  to  see  her  show  her  old  spirit.  He  saw 
that  she  was  sadly  tamed  now ;  and  he  marvelled 
why  he  should  regret  the  quenching  of  her  fiery 
spirit  She  did  not  seem  the  same  to  him,  and  he 
missed  the  old  mastery  to  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed. This  blunted  the  joy  of  the  meeting  he 
had  anticipated  hopefully  ever  since  he  had 
received  the  invitation.  His  wife  was  no  longer 
his.  She  was  not  even  the  woman  he  had 
loved,  honoured,  and  obeyed  for  years.  The  poor 
ghost  felt  lonelier  than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 
He  began  to  regret  that  he  had  been  permitted 
again  to  come  on  earth. 

A  waiter  had  filled  Dr.  Vedder's  glass.  He 
took  it  in  his  hand.  '  No,'  he  said,  '  I'm  not  a 
philanthropist ;  I  take  no  stock  in  the  aggressive 
optimism  of  the  sentimentalists.  In  fact,  I  suppose 
I'm  a  persistent  pessimist.  What  is  my  fellow-man 
to  me — or  my  fellow- woman  either  ? ' 

Mr.  Jacob  Leisler,  jun.,  was  not  a  man  whose 
perceptions  were  fine  or  quick,  but  he  was  moved 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  185 

to  resent  clumsily  the  offensiveness  of  these 
words. 

'  But  your  wife '  he  began. 

'  Oh,  my  wife  ! '  interrupted  Dr.  Vedder  ;  '  my 
wife  and  I  are  one,  you  know.' 

Van  Twiller  looked  at  Mrs.  Vedder  to  see  how 
she  would  take  this.  She  said  nothing.  She 
smiled  acidly.  It  was  not  doubtful  that  she  was 
greatly  changed. 

'  I  try  to  shape  my  course  by  the  doctrine  of 
enlightened  selfishness,'  continued  the  doctor.  '  Let 
us  enjoy  life  while  we  may.  Eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  for  to-morrow  we  die.  In  the  struggle  for 
existence  the  fittest  survive  and  the  weakest  are 
weeded  out — and  so  much  the  better  ! ' 

Both  Mrs.  Vedder  and  Mr.  Leisler  made  ready 
to  reply,  when  the  doctor  suddenly  went  on, 
sharpening  his  voice  to  its  keenest  edge  : 

'  So  much  the  better  for  him  !  Your  dead  man 
is  your  happy  man.  He  has  no  enemies,  and  even 
his  widow  praises  him — especially  if  she  has  re- 
married. In  fact,  he  has  all  the  virtues,  now  he 
has  no  use  for  any  of  them.'  Then  the  doctor 
raised  his  glass.  'The  toast  of  the  English  in 
India  suggests  true  wisdom,  after  all : 

"  Ho  !  stand  to  your  glasses  steady ! 

The  world  is  a  world  of  lies  ; 
A  cup  to  the  dead  already, 

And  hurrah  for  the  next  man  that  dies  ! " 

Mr.  Leisler  drew  himself  up  with  dignity  and 


186  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

addressed  the  doctor  with  a  stiff  severity  of 
manner : 

'  I  am  surprised,  Dr.  Vedder,  that  you  should 
express  such  views  of  life  on  such  an  occasion  as 
this.  I  confess  I  do  not  hold  with  you  at  all.  I — 

'  You  cannot  lure  me  into  a  debate  at  dinner,' 
the  doctor  answered,  as  Mr.  Leisler  paused  for  fit 
words  to  express  his  complicated  feelings.  '  I  never 
get  into  a  discussion  at  table,  for  the  man  who 
isn't  hungry  always  has  the  best  of  the  argument.' 

The  unfortunate  spook,  forced  to  listen  to  this 
unmannerly  talk  of  the  man  who  had  married  his 
widow,  sat  silent  and  abashed.  He  knew  not  what 
to  think.  He  did  not  recognise  his  wife.  When 
he  was  alive  she  had  been  full  of  fiery  vigour  and 
of  undaunted  spirit.  He  would  never  have  dared 
to  address  her  thus  boldly  and  to  brave  the  wrath 
which  was  wont  to  flame  out,  at  odd  moments,  like 
forked  lightning.  In  dumb  wonder  he  waited  for 
her  swift  protest ;  but  she  said  nothing  ;  whereat 
he  marvelled  not  a  little. 

Mr.  Leisler  asked  himself  why  Dr.  Vedder  was 
unusually  disagreeable  this  evening,  for  the  doctor 
was  a  clever  man  and  could  make  a  pleasant  im- 
pression when  he  chose.  With  the  hope  of  turning 
the  talk  into  a  more  cheerful  channel  Mr.  Leisler 
addressed  Mrs.  Vedder. 

*  Isn't  Miss  Van  Dyne  looking  very  well  to- 
night ? '  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Vedder  looked  down  the  table  at  the 
cheery  and  young-looking  old  maid. 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  187 

'  Yes,'  she  answered,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
*  she  seems  almost  happy  ;  but  then,  she  is  not 
married.' 

'  She  has  been  faithful  to  the  memory  of  her 
lost  love,'  said  Mr.  Leisler.  '  Let  me  see — how 
many  years  is  it  now  since  Captain  De  Ruyter  was 
killed  at  Gettysburg  ? ' 

'  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  believe 
that  a  woman  has  been  in  love  with  a  dead  man 
for  twenty-two  years,  do  you  ? '  Dr.  Vedder  asked 
with  an  incredulous  smile. 

'Why  not  ?  '  returned  his  wife. 

The  doctor  evaded  an  answer  to  this  direct 
question.  '  If  your  diagnosis  is  right,  she  has  had 
a  dull  enough  time  of  it,'  he  said.  '  And  she  has 
nothing  to  show  for  her  devotion.' 

'  Virtue  is  its  own  reward,'  Mr.  Leisler  remarked 
judicially. 

'  But  love  isn't,'  the  doctor  replied.  '  Love  is 
like  this  champagne,'  and  he  raised  his  glass  ;  '  it  is 
very  sparkling  when  it  is  young,  but  as  it  gets 
older  it  loses  its  flavour.'  He  emptied  the  glass 
and  set  it  down.  *  And  if  one  is  all  alone  with  it, 
there  may  be  a  headache  the  next  morning.' 

'  What  has  made  you  so  sarcastic  this  evening  ? ' 
asked  Mr.  Leisler. 

'  I  don't  know,'  Dr.  Vedder  answered.  '  I  am 
in  company  with  evil  spirits,  I  think.  If  I  were  a 
believer  in  such  things,  I  should  say  that  I  was  sub- 
ject to  an  adverse  influence.  And  I  was  all  right 
when  I  came.  Perhaps  it  is  this  wretched  dinner.' 


1 88  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

Perhaps  it  was  the  dinner,  but  little  Van  Twiller 
was  conscious  of  a  throb  of  ill-natured  joy  at  the 
thought  that  it  was  possibly  his  presence,  all  un- 
known as  it  was,  which  had  thus  disturbed  the 
equanimity  of  the  doctor  and  revealed  his  lower 
nature.  He  looked  at  Mrs.  Vedder,  and  he  saw 
she  was  eating  her  dinner  slowly  and  in  silence, 
with  a  stiffening  of  the  muscles  of  the  face — a  sign 
he  had  recognised  readily  enough. 

'  After  all,'  continued  the  doctor,  '  these  are  the 
two  great  banes  of  man's  existence  — dyspepsia  and 
matrimony.' 

'  Come,  come,'  Mr.  Leisler  said  cheerfully,  '  you 
must  not  abuse  marriage  ;  it  is  the  chief  end  of 
life.' 

'  It  was  very  nearly  the  end  of  mine,'  returned 
Dr.  Vedder  ;  '  I  caught  such  a  cold  in  the  church 
that  I  have  not  been  into  one  since.' 

Just  then  one  of  the  waiters  came  to  Mr. 
Leisler  with  a  request  that  he  should  change  his 
place  for  a  little  while,  and  take  his  seat  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table,  where  there  was  a  vacant 
chair.  Glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  away  from  a 
man  in  ill-humour,  Mr.  Leisler  apologised  to  Mrs. 
Vedder  and  withdrew  to  join  his  other  friends. 

Van  Twiller  saw  a  red  spot  burning  brightly  on 
Mrs.  Vedder's  cheek,  and  he  knew  that  this  was 
another  danger-signal. 

She  bent  forward  towards  her  husband,  and  in 
a  low  voice,  trembling  a  little  with  suppressed  ire, 
she  hissed  across  the  table, '  I  see  what  you  are 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  189 

after  !  But  you  will  not  succeed.  I  can  keep  my 
temper  though  I  bite  my  tongue  out.  It  takes  two 
to  quarrel,  remember ! ' 

'  It  takes  two  to  get  married,'  retorted  Dr. 
Vedder,  '  so  that  proves  nothing.' 

For  the  first  time  the  poor  ghost  saw  his  wife's 
eyes  fill  with  tears. 

'  Mr.  Van  Twiller  never  treated  me  so,'  she  said 
hurriedly.  '  I  wish  he  were  alive  now ! ' 

The  dry  little  wrinkle  came  back  to  the  corners 
of  the  doctor's  mouth,  but  he  made  no  reply. 

Little  Van  Twiller  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
as  they  stared  at  each  other.  Then  he  said  to  him- 
self, sighing  softly  : 

'  Well,  well,  perhaps  it  is  better  as  it  is  I ' 


III. 

Miss  MARY  VAN  DYNE  was  sitting  almost  in  the 
centre  of  one  side  of  the  long  dinner-table.  At  her 
right  was  Mr.  Joshua  Hoffman,  a  man  whose  heart 
was  as  large  as  his  purse  was  long,  and  who  kept 
both  open  to  the  call  of  the  suffering.  At  her  left 
was  a  vacant  chair — or  what  seemed  so  to  the  eyes 
of  the  living  men  and  women  at  the  table.  They 
did  not  know  that  it  was  occupied  by  Remsen  de 
Ruyter,  whose  maiden  widow  Mary  Van  Dyne  had 
held  herself  to  be  ever  since  a  bullet  had  reached 
his  heart  on  the  heights  of  Gettysburg.  For  nearly 
twenty-two  years  now  she  had  lived  on,  alone  in 
the  world,  but  never  lonely,  for  she  had  given  her- 


190  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

self  up  to  good  works.  Her  presence  was  welcome 
in  the  children's  ward  of  every  hospital,  and  the 
love  of  these  little  ones  nourished  her  soul  and 
sustained  her  spirit.  Between  her  and  Joshua 
Hoffman  there  were  bonds  of  sympathy,  and  they 
had  many  things  in  common.  The  good  old  man 
was  very  fond  of  the  brave  little  woman  who  had 
tried  to  turn  her  private  sorrow  to  the  benefit  of 
the  helpless  and  the  innocent. 

They  were  glad  to  find  themselves  side  by 
side  at  table,  and  they  talked  to  each  other  with 
interest. 

1  You  are  not  really  old,  Mr.  Hoffman,'  she  was 
saying ;  '  you  look  very  young  yet.  To-night  I 
wouldn't  give  you  fifty  ! ' 

'  My  dear  young  lady,  you  haven't  fifty  to  give,' 
he  answered  with  a  smile  ;  '  and  if  you  had,  why  I 
should  then  have  a  hundred  and  twenty-five — 
which  is  more  than  my  share  of  years.' 

'  You  are  not  really  seventy-five  ?  '  she  asked. 

'  Really,  I  am  seventy-five.  I  am  a  past-due 
coupon,  as  I  heard  one  of  the  boys  saying  on  the 
street  the  other  day,'  returned  Joshua  Hoffman, 
with  a  smile  as  pleasant  as  hers. 

'  And  how  old  am  I  ?  '  she  inquired. 

'Whatever  your  age  is,'  he  answered, '  to-night 
you  do  not  look  it ! ' 

'  Shall  I  arise  and  curtsey  for  that  ? '  she  asked, 
blushing  with  pleasure  at  his  courtly  compliment. 
'  You  see  I  like  to  be  flattered  still,  although  I  am 
an  old  maid  of  two-score  years.' 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  191 

'  Really  now,  my  child,'  said  the  old  man,  '  you 
are  not  forty  ?  Let  me  see — it  does  not  seem  so 
very  long  ago  since  he  came  and  told  me  how 
happy  he  was  because  you  had  promised  to  marry 
him.  Does  it  pain  you  to  talk  of  him  now  ?  ' 

'  I  think  of  him  always,  day  and  night.  Why 
should  I  not  be  glad  to  talk  about  him  with  you 
whom  he  loved,  and  to  whom  he  owed  so  much  ? ' 

'  He  was  a  good  boy,'  Joshua  Hoffman  con- 
tinued in  his  kindly  voice.  '  I  can  recall  the  day 
he  told  me  about  you  ;  it  was  a  fine,  clear  morning 
in  early  spring.' 

'  It  was  the  i6th  of  May,  1863,'  she  said  simply. 
'  He  had  asked  me  to  marry  him  the  night  before, 
and  he  said  that  you  were  the  first  he  would 
tell.' 

'  He  was  a  good  boy,  and  a  brave  boy,  and  he 
died  like  a  man,'  said  the  old  man  gently.  Then 
he  relapsed  into  silence  as  his  thoughts  went  back 
to  the  dark  days  of  the  war. 

Miss  Mary  Van  Dyne  was  also  thinking  of  the 
past.  Unconsciously  she  lived  again  in  her  youth 
when  she  first  saw  Remsen  de  Ruyter,  a  bright 
handsome  boy,  scarcely  older  than  she  was:  he 
was  only  twenty-one  when  he  died.  They  had 
loved  each  other  from  the  first,  although  it  was  a 
whole  long  winter  before  he  had  dared  to  tell  her 
— a  long  winter  of  delicious  doubt  and  fearful 
ecstasy.  She  recalled  all  the  circumstances  of  his 
avowal  of  his  love,  and  her  cheeks  burned  as  she 
thought  of  the  gush  of  unspeakable  joy  which  had 


192  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

filled  her  heart  as  he  folded  her  in  his  arms  for  the 
first  time.  She  remembered  how,  two  nights  after, 
before  they  had  told  the  news  to  any  one  but  her 
mother  and  his  benefactor  Joshua  Hoffman,  she 
sat  next  to  him  at  this  annual  dinner  of  the  council 
of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society ;  they  were 
the  very  youngest  members,  and  it  was  the  first 
time  they  had  been  asked.  So  strong  was  the  rush 
of  memory  of  the  happy  scene,  that  she  gave  a 
quick  glance  at  the  place  on  her  left,  as  though 
half-expecting  to  see  him  seated  there  still.  And 
there  he  was  by  her  side,  although  she  could  not 
see  him  now. 

He  was  there,  but  he  could  not  speak  to  her  ; 
he  could  not  tell  her  of  his  presence  ;  he  could  not 
tell  her  how  he  loved  her  still,  and  more  than  ever. 
It  was  hard.  Yet  he  was  glad  to  be  by  her  side, 
to  see  her,  to  look  into  her  frank  face,  to  gaze  on 
her  noble  eyes. 

And  she  felt  comforted  she  knew  not  why,  as 
though  by  an  invisible  presence.  Her  heart  was 
lifted  up.  Although  the  grass  had  woven  a  green 
blanket  over  his  grave  for  now  more  than  twenty 
years,  he  did  not  seem  so  far  from  her.  She  hoped 
she  would  not  have  so  long  to  wait  before  she 
might  join  him,  never  again  to  be  parted.  Then 
her  thoughts  turned  to  the  last  time  she  had  seen 
him,  the  morning  his  regiment  had  left  New  York 
for  the  front.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  early  in  June 
when  he  came  to  bid  her  farewell  for  the  last  time. 
They  talked  all  the  morning  seriously  and  hope- 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  193 

fully.  Then  the  hour  came  at  last,  and  all  too  soon. 
She  bore  herself  bravely  ;  without  a  tear  she  kissed 
him  and  held  him  in  her  arms  for  a  minute,  and 
bade  him  go.  She  watched  him  as  he  walked 
away.  How  well  she  could  recall  everything 
which  her  senses  had  noted  unconsciously  during 
the  two  minutes  before  he  paused  at  the  corner  of 
the  street  to  wave  his  hand  before  he  vanished  for 
ever.  There  were  roses  beginning  to  blow  in  the 
little  bit  of  green  before  the  house ;  there  was  a 
hand-organ  in  the  next  street  from  which  faint 
strains  of  'John  Brown's  Body'  came  over  the 
house-tops  ;  the  noon  whistle  of  a  neighbouring  fac- 
tory suddenly  broke  the  silence  as  he  blew  her  a 
kiss,  and  went  out  of  her  sight  to  his  death.  Then 
she  had  been  able  to  get  to  her  room  somehow — 
she  never  knew  how — and  to  throw  herself  on  her 
bed  before  she  broke  down. 

The  memory  was  bitter  and  sweet,  but  never 
before  had  it  been  as  sweet.  She  turned  her  eyes 
on  the  vacant  chair  by  her  side,  and  involuntarily 
she  reached  out  her  hand.  It  grasped  nothing,  it 
felt  nothing,  yet  her  ringers  tingled  as  with  a  shock 
of  joy.  She  gazed  at  the  empty  chair  again  in 
charmed  wonder.  She  could  not  tell  what  subtle 
influence  of  peace  and  comfort  enveloped  her  as  she 
mused  upon  the  past  with  her  arm  resting  on  the 
chair  beside  her.  Then  her  glance  fell  on  a  card 
beside  the  plate,  and  with  a  sudden  suffusion 'of 
the  eyes  she  read  his  name.  The  new  secretary  of 
the  council  had  used  the  list  of  twenty-two  years 

o 


194  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

before,  and  again  his  place  had  been  set  beside 
hers.  The  tears  which  veiled  her  sight  hid  the 
empty  chair  from  her  for  a  minute,  and  if  she 
turned  her  head  she  might  almost  fancy  that  he 
was  seated  there.  It  was  a  fancy  only,  but  it 
pleased  her  to  indulge  in  it.  It  brought  back  the 
happy  past  It  brought  him  back,  almost,  for  a 
fleeting  minute. 

And  he,  as  he  sat  there,  could  make  no  sign. 
With  the  keen  intuition  of  love,  he  read  her 
thoughts  in  her  face.  He  knew  that  she  was  think- 
ing of  him,  and  that  in  the  thought  of  him  she  was 
happy  again. 

And  thus  the  long  dinner  drew  to  an  end  at 
last. 

When  the  president  gave  the  signal  for  the 
withdrawal  into  another  room  that  the  usual  busi- 
ness meeting  of  the  council  might  take  place,  the 
members  rose  together.  Joshua  Hoffman  was 
silent,  as  though  he  divined  her  mood  and  sympa- 
thetically respected  it.  He  offered  her  his  arm, 
and  she  took  it,  looking  back  regretfully,  with  a 
longing  and  lingering  gaze,  at  the  place  where  they 
had  sat  side  by  side. 

IV. 

As  the  living  members  of  the  council  left  the 
dining-room,  the  ghostly  guests  gathered  together 
to  talk  over  what  they  had  seen  and  heard.  Only 
Remsen  de  Ruyter  was  silent ;  his  feelings  were 


PERTURBED  SPIRITS  195 

too  sacred  to  find  vent  in  words.  He  alone  wore 
a  smile  of  consolation  and  ^comfort.  The  rest 
chattered  along  in  tumultuous  conversation. 

'It  has  been  a  strange  experience,'  said  the 
very  old  gentleman — '  a  very  strange  experience.' 

'  More  painful  than  pleasant,  I  think,'  little  Van 
Twiller  remarked. 

'  I  thought  we  had  been  invited  as  a  compli- 
ment/ said  another  of  the  ghosts  discontentedly, 
'  but  it  seems  it  was  all  a  mistake  of  the  new  secre- 
tary— Fanny  Meredith,  they  call  him.' 

'  Excellent  young  man  ! '  the  old  gentleman 
declared  with  emphasis — '  an  excellent  young  man  ; 
so  thoughtful  of  him  ;  so  considerate  of  the  feel- 
ings of  his  elders.  I  shall  accept  his  invitation 
next  year.' 

'  So  shall  I  ! '  added  several  voices. 

'  Oh,  I'll  come  too,'  said  Jesse  Van  Twiller.  '  I 
want  to  see  what  will  happen  next.' 

Only  Remsen  de  Ruyter  said  nothing. 

V. 

BUT  long  before  the  next  annual  dinner  of  the 
council  of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Relief  Society,  the 
resignation  of  Mr.  Francis  Meredith  had  been  re- 
quested, and  in  his  stead  there  had  been  elected  a 
secretary  of  more  trustworthy  habits  ;  and  the  new 
secretary  was  very  particular  in  sending  out  the 
invitations  to  the  next  annual  dinner. 

So  the  poor  ghosts  never  had  another  chance 


196  PERTURBED  SPIRITS 

If  they  had  been  asked  again,  there  would  have 
been  one  more  of  them,  for  ten  days  after  the 
dinner  which  Fanny  Meredith  had  so  miserably 
mismanaged  Dr.  Vedder  died  suddenly. 

The  new  secretary  took  great  pains  also  in  the 
ordering  of  the  dinner,  and  in  the  arranging  of  the 
guests.  His  efforts  were  rewarded  ;  there  was 
general  satisfaction  expressed  by  the  members  of 
the  council ;  and  he  was  congratulated  on  the  most 
successful  dinner  ever  given.  Amid  the  pervading 
gaiety  of  the  occasion  there  was  only  one  guest 
who  regretted  the  dinner  of  the  year  before.  This 
was  Miss  Mary  Van  Dyne.  She  said  nothing 
about  it  to  any  one  ;  indeed,  she  was  accustomed 
to  keep  her  feelings  to  herself.  But  she  missed 
an  inexplicable  something  which  had  made  the 
other  dinner  the  most  delightful  memory  of  her 
later  life. 


ESTHER   FEVEREL 


ESTHER  FEVEREL. 

ABOUT  a  mile  beyond  the  straggling  outskirts  of 
a  New  England  village  once  as  young  and  energetic 
as  any  in  the  land,  but  to-day  so  old  and  exhausted 
that  it  seems  to  have  sunk  into  restful  sleep,  there 
stands  a  house  built  of  dull  gray  stone,  and  bearing 
bravely  still  the  onslaught  of  the  New  England 
winters  it  has  withstood  for  now  nearly  two  cen- 
turies. This  house,  beginning  at  last  to  bear 
witness  to  the  wear  of  time,  is  one  of  the  oldest  in 
America ;  it  is  one  of  the  few  buildings  of  the 
seventeenth  century  which  survive  to  this  last 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth.  To  us  who  live  in  an 
age  of  rush  and  glitter  the  appearance  of  the  house 
is  in  no  wise  remarkable  except  for  its  evident 
antiquity  ;  nor  should  we  turn  aside  now  to  consider 
what  the  contemporaries  of  the  first  owner  were 
wont  to  call  the  stately  nobility  of  its  proportions. 
But  our  eyes  are  not  the  eyes  of  the  early  colonists 
of  New  England,  and  the  stone  house  which  Judge 
Feverel  built  was  long  a  wonder  for  miles  arouncl. 
More  than  one  fast-day  sermon  had  been  directed 
against  its  magnificence,  which  seemed  out  of  place 
amid  the  humble  beginnings  of  the  growing  colony. 


200  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

There  yet  lingered  a  tradition  that  the  house  had 
once  been  called  'The  Judge's  Folly.'  But  the 
nickname  had  died  away  long  ago  as  the  magni- 
ficence of  the  house  had  faded.  And  as  time,  un- 
hasting  and  unresting,  sped  slowly,  the  house  of 
the  stern  and  fiery  Roger  Feverel  had  fallen  from 
grace,  and  the  fortunes  of  the  elder  branch  of  the 
Feverels  were  fallen  with  it. 

As  the  late  November  sun  sent  its  declining 
rays  across  the  low  Western  hills,  and  gilded  the 
substantial  chimney  which  rose  above  the  slant 
roof  of  the  house  which  Judge  Feverel  had  built, 
a  man  on  horseback  drew  rein  before  the  door. 
He  looked  at  the  house  like  one  who  had  never 
seen  it  before  ;  but  his  face  lighted  up  at  once  with 
a  glance  of  recognition  and  a  smile  of  satisfaction 
that  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  travels  at  last, 
and  reached  a  haven  of  rest.  He  sprang  from  his 
horse,  which  he  tethered  to  a  post  at  the  edge  of 
the  path.  He  was  a  handsome  young  fellow— for 
young  he  was  yet,  in  spite  of  his  having  already 
accomplished  half  of  a  man's  allotted  span  of  life. 
He  had  dark  wavy  hair,  quick  black  eyes,  and  a 
frank  face,  on  which  there  might  be  seen  at  times 
a  dreamy  look.  His  walk  indicated  a  resolute 
self-reliance,  and  he  passed  up  the  unfamiliar  path 
as  though  he  had  a  right  to  be  there. 

As  he  stood  on  the  low  step  before  the  door  of 
the  house,  after  ringing  the  bell,  he  turned  to  look 
at  the  little  garden  which  surrounded  the  house, 
and  at  the  few  scant  fields  which  were  attached  to 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  201 

it ;  then  he  raised  his  head  with  a  little  touch  of 
pride  as  he  recalled  the  time  when  the  owner  of 
the  house  was  the  owner  also  of  the  land  for  a 
mile  or  more  on  every  side  of  it.  One  by  one 
these  broad  acres  had  slipped  from  the  loose  hands 
of  the  Feverels,  and  generation  after  generation 
the  Feverels  had  become  poorer  and  poorer,  as 
though  there  had  been  a  curse  on  them  and  on 
their  house. 

'  On  this  house  there  may  be  a  curse,  and  there 
is  reason  for  it,'  thought  John  Feverel,  as  he  stood 
for  the  first  time  at  the  door  of  the  home  of  the 
Feverels  ;  '  but  the  curse,  if  curse  there  be,  is  on 
this  house  only,  and  not  on  the  Feverels  at  large. 
It  is  on  them,  perhaps,  who  remain  here  and  keep 
up  the  flame  of  hatred,  but  it  is  not  on  those  who 
have  gone  forth  into  the  world.  There  was  no 
curse  on  my  grandfather  when  he,  the  younger  son, 
went  out  from  here  and  prospered,  while  the  elder 
son  remained  here  and  saw  his  substance  shrivel 
up.  There  was  no  curse  on  my  father,  who  made 
his  way  in  the  world  without  hindrance  from  ill 
fortune.  There  is  no  curse  on  me  as  yet.  Standing 
here  on  the  threshold  of  the  house  of  the  Feverels, 
I  can  look  back  over  my  past  with  pleasure,  for  I 
have  been  happier  than  most  men,  and  I  can  look 
forward  to  the  future  with  hope.' 

Receiving  no  answer  to  his  repeated  ring,  John 
Feverel  rapped  sharply  on  the  panel  of  the  door 
Under  the  force  of  the  blow,  the  door  opened 
silently,  and  disclosed  a  broad  hall,  at  the  farther 


202  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

end  of  which,  facing  the  entrance,  there  was  a 
large  fire-place,  where  a  few  sticks  of  wood  were 
burning  brightly.  The  visitor  stood  for  a  moment 
on  the  door-step,  as  though  awaiting  an  invitation 
to  enter.  Then  he  walked  into  the  house  and 
looked  about  him.  The  hall  was  spacious,  old- 
fashioned,  quaint.  The  wood-work  had  reached  a 
stage  of  decay  when  care  could  no  longer  conceal 
the  marks  of  age  and  use.  Everything  was  clean 
and  worn-out.  The  tidiness  and  neatness,  the 
nosegay  of  fresh  flowers  in  a  vase  by  a  window, 
the  little  touches  of  colour  elsewhere,  revealed  a 
woman's  hand.  Yet  the  house  seemed  to  be 
empty.  There  was  no  one  to  welcome  John 
Feverel  to  the  home  of  his  ancestors. 

'  Uncle  Timothy,'  he  called.  '  Cousin  Esther  ! ' 
But  there  came  no  answer.  The  house  was  as 
deserted  as  it  was  desolate.  From  its  stillness  it 
might  be  a  habitation  of  the  dead,  where  no  one 
dwelt  but  the  ghosts  of  the  past. 

He  called  again,  and  again  he  received  no 
reply. 

Neither  of  his  kinsfolk  was  at  home  to  greet 
him.  And  yet  it  was  to  see  them  almost  as  much 
as  to  take  possession  of  the  property  that  he  had 
cut  short  his  travels  and  crossed  the  ocean  in 
haste. 

John  Feverel  was  the  grandson  of  a  John 
Feverel  who  left  this  Eastern  home  of  the  family 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  West.  In  this  under- 
taking he  had  prospered  as  no  Feverel  before  him 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  203 

had  prospered  since  the  fire  had  first  smoked  on 
the  hearth  of  '  The  Judge's  Folly.'  He  worked 
and  made  money :  he  married  and  saw  his  children 
grow  up  about  him  ;  and  in  his  old  age  he  rested 
in  peace  before  he  died  happily.  His  son,  John 
Fever  el  again,  made  yet  another  move  to  the 
West,  and  he  prospered  as  his  father  had  prospered. 
When  he  died  he  left  to  his  only  son,  the  John 
Feverel  who  now  stood  in  the  hall  of  the  house 
built  by  Roger  Feverel  nearly  two  hundred  years 
ago,  three  good  things  :  a  brave  heart,  a  keen  head, 
and  a  modest  fortune.  To  these  John  Feverel 
added  a  quality  of  his  own,  an  inquiring  mind  ever 
athirst  for  knowledge.  He  put  his  wits  to  work 
and  did  not  cease  from  labour  until  he  had  doubled 
the  fortune  left  him  by  his  father.  Although  he  was 
then  barely  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  although 
he  saw  before  him  the  prospect  of  great  riches,  he 
gave  up  his  business  and  rested  satisfied  with  the 
comfortable  competence  he  had  attained.  He  felt 
that  he  had  a  more  important  work  in  life  than  the 
mere  making  of  money.  Just  what  this  future 
work  might  be  he  did  not  know,  but  he  was  ready 
to  undertake  whatever  seemed  to  him  fit  and 
worthy.  In  the  meanwhile  he  set  about  im- 
proving himself  by  travel.  He  had  more  than  his 
share  of  that  mysticism  of  the  West  which  matches 
so  curiously  with  the  occult  temperament  of  the 
Orient.  Even  as  a  boy  he  had  become  an  adept 
in  the  cabalistic  secrets  of  the  Rosicrucians.  As  a 
man  he  travelled  throughout  the  East,  seeking  to 


204  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

sate  his  desire  to  gaze  on  strange  things,  and  to 
penetrate  the  obscure  mysteries  of  strange  people. 
He  had  sought  to  discover  the  means  whereby 
the  wonder-workers  of  the  East  wrought  their 
miracles.  He  was  learned  in  the  lore  of  the 
alchemists,  and  he  had  traversed  Arabia  in  search  of 
the  surviving  repositories  of  their  recondite  wisdom. 
To  all  that  he  saw  he  applied  his  shrewd  common- 
sense.  The  results  of  his  experiment  and  investi- 
gation he  kept  to  himself ;  but  he  walked  among 
men  as  one  who  has  peered  deep  into  the  enigmas 
of  life  and  pondered  upon  them  long  and  earnestly. 
It  may  be  that,  for  a  little  space,  he  stood  in 
danger  of  sinking  into  the  lethargy  of  Buddhistic 
contemplation.  He  was  far  up  in  the  Himalayas 
when  he  received  a  letter  which  suddenly  recalled 
him  to  a  sharp  self-consciousness.  It  was  from 
Esther  Feverel,  the  only  daughter  of  Timothy 
Feverel,  the  last  survivor  of  the  elder  branch 
of  the  old  Judge's  family.  It  told  him  in  few  and 
simple  words  that  her  father's  affairs  were  hope- 
lessly involved,  and  that  a  mortgage  on  the  old 
house  was  about  to  be  foreclosed  ;  and  it  suggested 
that  perhaps  he  might  like  to  buy  it,  so  that  the 
house  should  still  be  owned  by  a  Feverel.  John 
Feverel  had  never  seen  any  of  his  New  England 
relatives,  and  he  had  given  them  little  thought ;  but 
with  the  old  house,  with  the  strange  story  of  its 
building,  and  with  the  legends  which  clustered 
about  its  hearth,  he  was  perfectly  familiar.  He  had 
sat  by  his  grandfather's  knee,  night  after  night — 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  205 

during  the  festival  reunions  which  brought  together 
the  various  members  of  the  Western  branch  of  the 
family — and  he  had  treasured  up  every  word  which 
fell  from  his  grandfather's  lips,  when  he  told  of 
'  The  Judge's  Folly,'  and  of  the  fire  on  its  hearth, 
and  of  the  ill  fortune  which  followed  the  house  and 
its  inmates.  To  have  the  house  pass  into  his  pos- 
session was  a  boon  he  had  not  dared  to  hope  for. 

The  letter  which  informed  him  that  its  purchase 
was  possible  was  written  in  the  name  of  Timothy 
Feverel,  but  the  hand  was  the  hand  of  his  daughter. 
John  Feverel  had  studied  chirography  as  he  had 
studied  whatever  else  might  serve  to  increase  his 
knowledge  of  men.  He  was  wont  to  read  cha- 
racter by  handwriting  with  a  success  often  startling 
to  himself.  The  symbols  of  character  he  deci- 
phered in  the  sincere  handwriting  of  Esther  Feverel 
made  him  wish  to  meet  her  and  know  more  of  her. 

He  wrote  to  her  at  once,  venturing  to  call  her 
cousin,  and  telling  her  that  he  had  given  orders  to 
have  the  place  bought  for  him  whenever  the  mort- 
gagee saw  fit  to  foreclose.  Furthermore,  assuming 
the  liberty  of  a  kinsman,  he  begged  that  she  and 
her  father  would  continue  to  live  in  the  house  as 
before,  taking  care  of  it  for  him,  against  the  time 
when  he  should  return  to  America. 

A  few  months  later,  when  he  had  begun  to  be 
weary  of  his  years  of  wandering  in  search  of  the 
unknowable,  he  had  received  another  letter  'from 
Esther,  letting  him  know  that  the  sale  had  taken 
place,  and  that  the  house  was  his,  and  thanking 


2o6  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

him  for  the  kindness  extended  to  her  father  and 
herself— a  kindness  of  which  they  would  gladly 
avail  themselves  until  his  return.  So  gentle  was 
this  letter,  so  sweet  in  its  maidenly  modesty,  so 
frank  and  womanly  was  it,  so  charming  was  the 
character  revealed  by  its  chirography,  that  it 
wrought  a  change  in  John  Feverel's  views  of  life 
He  abandoned  a  daring  trip  to  the  chief  temples  of 
China,  and  made  his  way  back  to  America. 

Now,  as  he  stood  for  the  first  time  in  the  home 
of  the  Feverels,  he  had  a  sharp  feeling  of  disap- 
pointment that  Esther  was  not  there  to  bid  him 
welcome.  Before  he  had  paced  the  hall  half  a 
dozen  times,  this  feeling  gave  way,  and  he  began 
even  to  be  glad  that  he  was  alone,  and  that  his 
first  impressions  of  the  old  house  might  be  pure  of 
all  admixture  of  the  opinions  of  another,  even  were 
that  other  his  cousin  Esther.  So  accurate  had  been 
his  grandfather's  description,  and  so  retentive  had 
been  his  own  memory,  that  he  felt  at  home  in  the 
house  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  door.  He  gazed 
from  the  windows,  and  the  view  was  to  him  as 
though  he  had  seen  it  before  in  some  former  exist- 
ence. The  tall  clock  on  the  stairs  looked  down  on 
him  as  benignantly  as  it  had  looked  down  on  the 
other  children  of  the  family  in  the  two  centuries 
since  it  first  began  to  measure  eternity  into  time. 
The  mirror  over  the  mantel-piece  at  the  end  of  the 
hall  reflected  his  image  as  it  had  reflected  the 
image  of  eight  generations  of  Feverels  since  the  old 
Judge  set  it  against  the  chimney.  The  ancient 


ESTHER  FEVER  EL  207 

chair  before  the  fire  extended  its  arms  as  hospi- 
tably to  him  as  it  had  to  his  great-grandfather, 
the  last  of  his  line  who  had  sat  in  it.  On  John 
Feverel  these  things  had  a  strange  effect  ;  he  felt 
as  though  he  had  come  home  at  last — and  for  the 
first  time. 

As  he  sat  himself  down  in  the  chair  before  the 
fire  and  glanced  up  at  the  mirror,  he  saw  an  ex- 
pression on  his  face  he  had  never  known  there  be- 
fore. He  had  a  strange  presentiment  that  he  was 
at  the  turning-point  of  his  career.  It  was  as 
though  he  were  halting  at  the  threshold  of  a  new 
life,  pausing  for  a  moment  to  look  back  across  the 
past,  and  yet  regarding  the  future  hopefully.  He 
lowered  his  eyes,  and  they  fell  on  the  date  carven 
deep  into  the'heavy  timbers  of  the  mantel-piece — 
1692.  For  nearly  two  hundred  years  had  the  fire 
been  alight  on  that  hearth  day  and  night,  winter 
and  summer,  year  after  year.  There  the  flame  had 
burned  and  smouldered  and  blazed  since  the  Judge, 
in  his  fanaticism  and  wrath,  had  brought  home  a 
brand  from  the  burning  of  a  poor  wretch  whom  he 
had  sentenced  to  death  for  an  abhorrent  crime  of 
petty  treason.  On  that  hearth,  beneath  the  faded 
tiles,  whereon  were  depicted  Cain  and  Abel,  David 
and  Goliath,  Sisera  and  Jael,  and  other  characters 
in  Biblical  scenes  of  bloodshed,  the  fire  had  never 
ceased  rising  and  falling  since  Roger  Feverel  had 
kindled  it  for  the  first  time  with  a  brand  from  the 
burning,  that  it  might  be  an  enduring  witness  to 
his  righteousness,  and  that  it  should  be  ready  at  all 


208  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

times  in  the  future  to  fire  the  torch  whenever  the 
same  awful  vengeance  might  need  to  be  taken  once 
again.  Roger  Feverel  was  dead  and  buried,  and 
the  hatreds  and  the  beliefs  and  the  heresies  of  his 
time  were  dead  and  buried  also,  but  the  fire  he 
kindled  was  still  smoking  on  his  hearth.  Roger 
Feverel's  son  and  his  grandson  and  his  great-grand- 
son had  passed  away,  one  after  another  ;  but  the  fire 
that  the  founder  of  the  family  had  lighted  when  he 
built  the  house  lived  on,  and  was  as  young  as  ever. 
Generation  followed  generation  to  the  grave,  but 
the  fire  of  intolerance  still  burned  on  its  altar  as 
though  Roger  Feverel  had  made  a  covenant  with 
his  descendants  that  they  should  feed  the  flame  for 
ever.  So  strongly  had  the  traditions  of  the  family 
seized  John  Feverel  that  he  bent  forward  and  laid 
across  the  embers  two  pieces  from  the  piles  of  cut 
wood  ready  to  his  hand  on  either  side  of  the  fire- 
place. 

As  he  lay  back  again  in  the  chair  he  saw  in  the 
mirror  the  reflection  of  his  smile,  for  he  was  half 
conscious  that  his  humorous  scepticism  mated  ill 
with  the  fanatic  intolerance  of  the  old  Judge  who 
had  set  light  to  that  fire.  He  wondered  whether 
Roger  Feverel  had  also  looked  into  the  mirror  as 
he  heaped  fuel  upon  the  flame.  No  doubt  the 
Judge  had  seen  the  look  on  his  own  dark  face, 
though  he  knew  not  how  to  read  its  meaning.  The 
glass  had  hung  there  since  the  fire  first  flamed.  In 
it  had  been  reflected  the  life  history  of  the  Feverels. 
Across  the  surface  of  that  frail  glass  had  passed  the 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  209 

image  of  the  pride  and  the  joys  and  the  sorrows 
of  Roger  Feverel  and  of  his  descendants.  It  had 
seen  their  youth  and  their  old  age  ;  it  had  seen 
their  sufferings,  and  it  may  be  their  death.  It  had 
been  a  silent  witness  to  their  prosperity,  and,  after 
many  years,  to  their  poverty,  but  never  to  their 
disgrace  or  their  shame,  for  they  always  held  their 
heads  high,  and  their  poverty  was  never  tarnished 
with  dishonour. 

As  John  Feverel  sat  in  the  chair  before  the  fire 
and  gazed  up  into  the  mirror  he  thought  of  these 
things,  and  he  wished  that  these  scenes  might  be 
evoked  from  the  past,  and  shown  again  in  the  glass 
wherein  they  had  been  reflected  as  they  happened. 
He  wondered  what  the  Judge  would  have  thought 
of  the  magic  mirrors  of  Japan,  in  which  a  vanished 
scene  may  be  made  to  reappear.  Surely  the  Judge 
would  have  seen  nothing  strange  in  the  tale,  but 
he  would  have  been  prompt  to  punish  any  man 
who  should  make  use  of  such  a  device  of  the  devil. 

John  Feverel  recalled  the  temple  on  the  flanks 
of  Fusiyama  wherein  the  Japanese  priests  preserved 
jealously  the  most  potent  of  these  magic  mirrors. 
It  was  in  this  temple  that — by  one  of  those  curious 
reproductions  in  strange  countries  of  the  rites  and 
mysteries  of  ancient  civilisation — a  perpetual  fire 
was  cherished  on  the  altar,  guarded  night  and  day, 
as  the  virgins  of  Roma  kept  up  the  sacred  flame  of 
Vesta.  When  a  certain  mysteriously  compounded 
preparation  was  thrown  upon  this  fire,  a  dense 
smoke  arose  and  veiled  the  magic  mirror,  which 

p 


210  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

hung  just  above  the  altar,  and  it  was  through  the 
dim  haze  of  this  smoke  that  the  pictures  of  the 
past  became  visible  in  the  glass. 

Suddenly  John  Feverel  sprang  to  his  feet.  It 
had  struck  him  that  here  in  '  The  Judge's  Folly ' 
in  New  England  there  was  an  ever-burning  fire 
beneath  a  mirror  just  as  there  was  in  the  Japanese 
temple  on  the  side  of  Fusiyama.  And  at  the  same 
time  he  remembered  that  he  had  begged  and  bribed 
a  priest  of  the  temple  to  give  him  a  portion  of  the 
preparation  thrown  upon  the  fire  beneath  the  magic 
mirror.  With  infinite  precaution  the  priest  had 
confided  it  to  him,  incased  in  a  tiny  silver  ball,  the 
surface  of  which  was  curiously  wrought  with  a 
mystic  device.  This  ball,  the  contents  of  which 
he  had  intended  to  submit  to  chemical  analysis 
whenever  occasion  served,  he  had  worn  ever  since 
attached  to  his  watch-chain  as  a  charm.  As  he 
thought  of  it  his  fingers  closed  upon  it,  and  the 
worn  links  of  the  chain  parted  and  left  the  ball  in 
his  hand.  It  was  as  though  the  inanimate  thing 
had  whispered  to  him  that  the  time  had  come 
when  it  could  be  of  use. 

Obeying  an  impulse  which  he  felt  to  be  well- 
nigh  irresistible,  John  Feverel  drew  forward  the 
scattered  fragments  of  the  fire  which  had  burned 
on  that  hearth  for  nearly  twice  a  hundred  years. 
Then,  with  a  single  turn  of  his  wrist,  he  twisted 
apart  the  silver  hemispheres  which  contained  the 
magical  compound  of  the  Japanese  temple.  A 
white  powder  fell  from  them  upon  the  glowing 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  211 

embers,  a  pungent  aroma  filled  the  air,  and  a  thick 
smoke  arose,  veiling  the  mirror  from  view.  As 
the  cool  evening  breeze,  playing  through  the  open 
door,  caused  the  cloud  of  smoke  to  waver  and  shift 
from  side  to  side,  John  Feverel,  reclining  in  the 
chair  before  the  fire,  felt  as  one  looking  through  a 
glass  darkly.  Figures,  dim  and  indistinct,  seemed 
to  be  visible  in  the  mirror,  into  which  he  peered 
resolutely,  calling  up  the  past  with  the  whole  force 
of  his  will.  He  sat  motionless,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  the  spell.  His  whole  being  was  attuned  in 
harmony  with  the  moment.  Whether  it  was 
memory,  or  imagination  aided  by  memory,  or 
whether  the  charm  had  veritably  some  occult 
potency,  mattered  little.  As  he  gazed  into  the 
mirror  through  the  circling  smoke  which  rose 
steadily  from  the  fire  beneath  he  saw  visions,  and 
in  time  they  took  form  and  colour.  Some  scenes 
stood  out  more  vividly  than  others,  to  John 
Feverel's  delight,  for  he  soon  found  that  he  saw 
more  clearly  what  he  was  most  familiar  with,  and 
what  he  most  wished  to  see,  as  though  the  mirror 
responded  to  some  secret  sympathy  of  his  soul. 
He  beheld  the  three  sons  of  the  house  of  Feverel, 
the  brothers  of  Esther,  dead  before  she  was  born, 
boys  all  three  of  them,  but  manly  and  full  of  spirit ; 
he  saw  them  come  to  bid  farewell  to  their  mother, 
as  they  went  forth,  clad  in  dark  blue,  musket  on 
shoulder,  on  the  long  march  which  should  end  only 
with  their  death,  one  on  the  plains  of  Virginia,  and 
one  in  the  bayous  of  Louisiana,  and  one  on  the  hill 


212  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

at  Gettysburg  ;  and  the  shot  which  killed  this  last 
reached  the  heart  of  the  mother,  and  was  fatal, 
though  she  lingered  long  enough  to  clasp  her  little 
daughter  in  her  arms  before  she  followed  her  boys 
across  the  dark  threshold  of  death. 

Then  a  thick  cloud  of  smoke  rolled  across  the 
mirror,  as  though  a  volley  had  been  fired  over  their 
graves,  and  as  this  drifted  away,  John  Feverel, 
looking  fixedly  in  the  glass,  saw  the  open  door  of 
the  house,  and  a  little  maid  went  forth  and  gave  a 
glass  of  water  to  a  courtly  old  gentleman,  who 
remained  uncovered  before  her  while  he  quenched 
his  thirst.  He  knew  that  the  little  maid  was  his 
grandfather's  sister,  and  he  recognised  the  courtly 
old  gentleman  as  one  who  had  come  to  bring  us 
help  in  time  of  direst  need,  and  who  was,  many 
years  later,  on  a  visit  to  America  as  the  guest  of 
the  nation. 

As  this  pleasant  vision  faded  away  softly  and 
was  resolved  into  nothing,  there  fell  upon  the  car 
of  the  man  who  was  peering  into  the  mirror,  with 
all  his  faculties  at  their  utmost  tension — there  fell 
upon  his  ear  as  it  had  been  a  rattle  of  drums,  and 
he  saw  a  company  of  redcoats  drawn  up  before  the 
house,  and  on  the  door-step,  confronting  them 
sturdily,  whilst  she  patted  the  babe  at  her  breast, 
stood  the  beautiful  Rachel  Feverel,  wife  of  Colonel 
Francis  Feverel,  parleying  with  the  captain  of  the 
British  troops,  and  bandying  words  with  him  pertly, 
that  he  might  delay,  all  to  give  the  Continentals 
time  to  rally  and  return  and  cut  them  off. 


ESTHER  FEVEkEL  213 

While  he  looked  the  scene  changed,  and  the 
rattle  of  drums  was  drowned  by  shrieks  and  shrill 
yells  like  the  cries  of  wild  beasts.  The  door  was 
closed  and  barred,  and  defended  by  half  a  score 
of  strong  men.  The  stanch  shutters  of  the  windows 
were  firmly  fastened,  and  men  were  firing  through 
the  loop-holes.  Fiery-headed  arrows  fell  against 
the  door  now  and  again,  and  were  extinguished  just 
as  they  were  about  to  fire  the  house.  But  though 
the  painted  Indians  encompassed  them  on  every 
side,  and  escape  was  impossible,  and  death  was 
waiting  for  them,  and  a  fate  worse  than  death,  the 
women  of  the  family  were  not  craven  ;  some  of 
them  were  loading  the  muskets,  every  shot  from 
which  hit  the  living  mark  it  was  aimed  at ;  and 
some  were  gathered  in  a  group  about  the  fire, 
melting  lead  from  the  roof  and  running  it  into 
bullet- moulds.  A  little  of  the  water  into  which 
the  hot  bullets  were  dropped  fell  upon  the  roaring 
logs  on  the  hearth,  and  the  white  steam  rushed 
up  and  bedimmed  the  mirror  so  that  John  Feverel 
could  see  nothing  more  for  a  long  while. 

At  last  the  steam  and  the  smoke  parted  again 
and  left  the  glass  clear.  The  hall  was  silent  and 
deserted  ;  and  Roger  Feverel  paced  slowly  and 
thoughtfully  up  and  down,  from  the  hearth  he  had 
lighted  with  a  brand  from  the  burning  he  had 
decreed,  to  the  door  which  shut  out  the  glory  of 
the  summer  sun.  Judge  Feverel  was  not  a#  old 
man  even  then,  though  he  had  aged  since  the  day 
when  he  had  done  his  duty  at  Hadley  fight,  by  the 


214  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

side  and  under  the  orders  of  the  gray  warrior  who 
came  forth  mysteriously  to  lead  the  colonists  to 
victory,  and  who  was  recognised  as  Goffe  the 
regicide.  As  he  strode  up  and  down  the  hall  of 
'The  Judge's  Folly'  he  did  not  note  a  light  foot- 
step upon  the  stair,  and  he  did  not  see  a  slight  and 
graceful  girlish  figure,  until  his  daughter  stole  her 
arm  in  his  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  near  the  door. 
When  Roger  Feverel  felt  her  gentle  touch  his  hard 
face  softened,  and  he  gave  her  a  look  of  deep  affec- 
tion mingled  with  solicitude.  John  Feverel  re- 
called the  family  tradition  of  the  Judge's  daughter, 
who  began  to  sicken  and  fade  as  soon  as  she  set 
foot  in  the  house  her  father  had  built ;  she  was  his 
favourite  of  all  his  children,  in  so  far  at  least  as  his 
stern  justice  allowed  him  to  make  any  distinction 
between  them.  As  she  leaned  on  her  father's  arm 
she  seemed  so  fragile  that  a  puff  of  the  winter 
breeze  would  blow  her  away,  and  it  was  true  that 
she  did  not  live  out  the  first  December  in  the  new 
house.  She  turned  with  her  father  and  drew  near 
the  fire, and  for  the  first  time  her  face  became  visible 
to  John  Feverel.  He  looked  at  her  with  surprise, 
for  he  recognised  her — at  least  he  had  a  vague 
feeling  that  he  had  beheld  her  face  before.  The 
beautiful  mouth,  the  tender  eyes,  the  delicate  wave 
of  the  hair  drawn  tightly  back,  were  familiar  to 
him,  like  a  face  seen  in  a  dream.  There  came  a 
sudden  thickening  of  the  misty  vapour  which  en- 
wrapped the  mirror,  and  for  a  moment  he  seemed 
to  see  her  image  upon  this  unsubstantial  curtain  ; 


ESTHER  FEVEREL 


215 


and  then  he  remembered  where  it  was  that  he  had 
first  beheld  the  face  of  the  Judge's  daughter,  and 
he  knew  it  was  the  face  of  his  promised  bride. 

A  year  before,  John  Feverel  had  been  in  Egypt, 
and  one  day  he  had  joined  a  little  party  who 
wished  to  view  the  Sphinx  by  night.  After  the 
pale  green  sunset  had  died  away,  and  the  ruddy 
after-glow  had  followed  it  swiftly,  and  the  short 
twilight  had  given  place  to  the  darkness  of  night, 
the  party  sat  around  a  fire  before  the  house  where 
they  were  to  sleep.  While  John  Feverel  was  lying 
on  the  sand,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Sphinx, 
musing  on  the  riddle  of  life,  he  was  suddenly 
awakened  to  the  emptiness  of  existence  by  the 
arrival  of  a  little  band  of  strolling  performers,  one 
of  whom,  apparently  a  Hindoo,  and  a  man  of 
unusual  skill  and  presence,  performed  the  cus- 
tomary wonders  of  the  itinerant  magician.  A 
dragoman  hinted  to  one  of  the  party  that  this 
Hindoo  had  great  powers,  and  that  he  had  been 
known  to  reveal  to  a  man  the  portrait  of  his  future 
bride.  John  Feverel,  who  had  drawn  on  one  side, 
took  no  part  in  the  clamorous  outcry  of  his  fellow- 
travellers  for  an  immediate  exhibition  of  his  pecu- 
liar power,  and  he  was  much  surprised  when  the 
Hindoo  turned  to  him  gravely  and  offered  to  work 
the  wonder  for  him,  and  for  him  alone.  With  his 
keen  interest  in  thaumaturgy,  Feverel  accepted  the 
offer.  The  Hindoo  made  two  smaller  fires  equi- 
distant from  that  around  which  the  travellers  sat, 
and  at  each  he  stationed  one  of  the  two  boys  who 


216  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

served  as  his  assistants.  Then  the  Hindoo  looked 
into  John  Feverel's  hand  and  studied  its  lines  for  a 
moment.  Producing  a  package  of  some  strange 
Oriental  incense,  he  bade  Feverel  cast  a  handful  of 
it  on  the  fire.  As  he  obeyed,  a  thick  column  of 
smoke  shot  into  the  air,  and  in  the  centre  of  this 
column  he  saw  a  woman's  face.  It  was  the  same 
face  he  was  to  see  again  in  the  mirror. 

It  was  a  face  he  could  now  never  more  forget. 
It  had  been  revealed  to  him  twice  in  a  vision,  once 
in  a  column  of  smoke  in  Egypt,  and  once  again  in 
a  mirror  here  in  New  England.  He  wondered  if 
he  was  never  to  behold  her  in  more  tangible  reality, 
and  to  meet  her  face  to  face  in  actual  life,  where 
he  might  take  her  by  the  hand  and  bid  her  mark 
the  beatings  of  his  heart,  and  ask  her  to  share  his 
life  through  good  fortune  and  ill. 

He  sat  silently  and  long,  dreaming  and  musing. 
When  he  aroused  himself  at  last,  the  rising  smoke 
was  now  only  a  thin  thread,  and  the  fire  had 
shrivelled  to  a  few  scant  embers.  He  had  a  sus- 
picion that  there  was  some  ingredient  in  the 
Japanese  preparation  he  had  sprinkled  over  the 
flames  which  had  sufficed  to  quench  them  finally. 
For  the  first  time  in  the  two  centuries  since  Roger 
Feverel  had  lighted  the  fire  on  that  hearth  it  burned 
low,  and  although  it  yet  lingered  and  might  be  re- 
suscitated by  effort,  it  was  well-nigh  dead.  Through 
the  open  door  the  slant  rays  of  the  setting  sun  en- 
tered the  hall  and  bathed  it  in  an  immaterial  glory. 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  217 

John  Feverel  raised  his  eyes  again  to  the  mirror 
to  see  if  haply  he  might  gain  another  glimpse  of 
the  face  which  had  moved  him  so  strangely.  The 
glass  was  no  longer  wreathed  in  vapour,  and  yet 
again  it  reflected  the  same  face,  not  dimly  now,  nor 
indistinct,  not  as  a  phantom,  intangible  and  tanta- 
lizing, but  alive,  and  with  the  smile  of  life  and 
health  and  youth.  Then  he  heard  a  light  footfall, 
and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  before  the 
woman  of  his  vision.  And  she  stood  before  him 
in  flesh  and  blood,  this  woman  whom  he  had  seen 
only  in  the  mirror  of  the  past.  Mouth  and  eyes 
and  hair,  and  the  beauty  of  which  these  were 
symbols,  were  to  him  unmistakable.  Even  her 
dress  in  its  simplicity  recalled  that  of  Roger 
Feverel's  daughter.  The  beauty  which  in  the 
evanescent  visions  had  been  vague  and  fleeting  was 
in  life  beyond  all  question.  It  was  the  beauty  of 
New  England,  and  it  dwelt  as  much  in  delicacy 
of  colour  as  in  the  regularity  of  outline.  It  was 
beauty  not  only  of  face,  but  also  of  figure,  as  firm, 
in  fact,  as  it  seemed  fragile.  But  perhaps  the  chief 
charm  lay  in  the  eyes,  dreamy  yet  noble,  full  of 
frankness  and  candour.  John  Feverel  stood  before 
her  entranced,  or  rather  as  one  awakened  from 
reverie  to  a  delightful  reality. 

As  she  came  toward  him,  with  a  brilliant  smile 
of  welcome,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

'  It  is  Cousin  John,  I  am  sure,'  she '  said. 
'  Though  we  did  not  expect  you  until  to-morrow,  I 


2i8  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

know  you.  We  Feverels  are  a  marked  race,  with 
our  dark  eyes  and  light  hair.' 

c  And  you  are  Esther  ? '  he  said. 

'  Yes,  I  am  Esther,'  was  her  answer. 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  an  angel  in  its 
sweetness  and  purity.  John  Feverel  almost  hesi- 
tated to  believe  that  he  was  not  dreaming  still,  that 
he  was  no  longer  peering  into  the  mirror  in  which 
he  had  beheld  her  only  a  few  minutes  before. 

'  I  am  sorry  that  we  were  not  here  to  welcome 
you  this  afternoon,  but  my  father  went  into  town, 
and  I  was  away  in  the  orchard,  and  I  did  not 
know  you  were  here  until  I  saw  your  horse.' 

He  took  the  hand  she  extended  to  him,  and  mur- 
mured inarticulate  acknowledgment.  He  found 
few  words,  though  he  was  wont  to  be  ready.  His 
tongue  refused  its  office,  but  his  love  spake  from 
his  eyes.  Her  glance  fell,  under  his  steady  gaze, 
and  a  slight  blush  crimsoned  her  cheek.  It  was  as 
though,  having  seen  her  once,  he  did  not  wish  ever 
again  to  lose  sight  of  her,  and  to  be  compelled  to 
rely  on  incantation  for  her  reappearance.  She 
hesitated  for  a  little  space,  and  then  she  continued  : 
'I  hope  you  will  be  happy  here,  as  I  have  been. 
It  is  a  dear  old  house,  and  I  have  spent  my  life 
here,  and  I  love  it.  But  I  fear  you  will  not  be 
content  with  what  pleased  an  ignorant  girl,  after 
your  wanderings  all  over  the  world.' 

'What  I  have  seen  of  the  house  seems  like  a 
glimpse  of  Paradise,'  he  said,  when  at  last  he  found 
his  voice.  '  And  I  should  be  hard  to  please  if  I 


ESTHER  FEVEREL  219 

were  to  wish  to  leave  it.  I  am  sure  that  I  shall 
not  want  to  roam  again.  I  shall  be  content  here 
now ; '  and  to  these  last  words  he  gave  a  deep 
meaning,  so  that  the  blush  mantled  her  cheek 
again.  '  I  have  come  home  to  rest  by  my  own 
fireside.' 

As  he  said  this  she  cast  an  involuntary  glance 
upon  the  hearth.  Then  she  sprang  forward  with 
feverish  haste  :  '  You  have  let  the.  fire  go  out,'  she 
said,  reproachfully,  and  it  has  been  burning  here 
day  and  night,  summer  and  winter,  ever  since  the 
house  was  built.' 

John  Feverel  said  nothing,  but  watched  her 
as  she  heaped  the  wood  over  the  scant  embers  and 
sought  to  fan  them  into  a  flame.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  fixity  of  his  glance  which  disturbed  her,  for 
she  arose  sharply  and  turned  to  seek  a  match. 
The  skirt  of  her  dress  rested  for  a  second  on  one 
of  the  dying  embers,  and  as  she  stooped  again  the 
flames  sprang  up  and  enveloped  her.  * 

With  the  prompt  decision  of  a  man  used  to 
the  facing  of  emergencies,  John  Feverel  seized  the 
heavy  Oriental  rug  which  lay  before  the  hearth. 
He  flung  it  instantly  around  the  girl,  and  rolled  it 
tightly,  extinguishing  the  slight  flame  before  it  had 
force  even  to  scorch  her  fair  skin.  For  a  minute 
he  kept  her  wrapped  closely  in  his  arms. 

Then,  as  he  relaxed  his  hold  a  little,  she  re- 
leased herself. 

'  But  you  must  not  let  the  fire  go  out,'  she  said, 
gently,  '  even  if  it  did  try  to  burn  me.' 


220  ESTHER  FEVEREL 

He  placed  her  in  the  chair  before  the  hearth, 
and  he  stepped  forward  and  stamped  out  the  last 
lingering  ember,  powerless  thereafter  for  good  or 
evil.  She  watched  him  with  a  woman's  acquies- 
cence in  the  force  of  a  man's  will.  When  the  last 
spark  was  quenched,  he  came  to  her  and  took  her 
hand. 

'  Let  the  old  fire  of  intolerance  and  hatred  go 
out,'-  he  said.  '  For  nearly  two  hundred  years  its 
smoke  has  cast  a  shadow  over  the  Feverels.  I  hope 
for  a  new  light  and  a  purer  flame  on  our  hearth  ; ' 
and  he  knelt  beside  her,  and  her  hand  rested  in 
his. 


NEW  DOLLAR  NOVELS 

PUBLISHED   BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


Each  One  Volume,  i2mo  Cloth,         -        -        -         $1.00 


VALENTINO. 

By  WILLIAM  WALDORF  ASTOR. 

Price  reduced  to  One  Dollar. 

A  romance  founded  upon  the  history  of  the  Borgia  family  in  the  early  pait 
of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  during  the  lifetime  of  Pope  Alexander  VI. 
and  his  son  Caesar  Borgia.  It  presents  a  remarkably  carefully  studied 
picture  of  those  stirring  times.  A  story  full  of  spirit  and  action. 

"  The  details  of  workmanship  are  excellent.  Mr.  Astor  writes,  appar- 
ently, out  of  a  full  mind  and  a  thorough  interest  in  his  subject." — Atlantic 
Monthly. 

"  His  manner  is  dignified  and  his  English  pleasant  and  easy." — Boston 
Advertiser. 

"It  is  well  called  a  romance,  and  no  romance  indeed  could  be  more 
effective  than  the  extraordinary  extract  from  Italian  annals  which  it  preserves 
in  such  vivid  colors." — N.  Y.  Tribune, 

"A  signal  addition  to  the  really  superior  novels  of  the  season." — The 
Independent. 

"  One  cannot  read  far  in  '  Valentino  '  before  perceiving  that  Mr.  Astor 
has  written  a  very  creditable  romance  in  the  historical  field,  and  one  that 
would  not  have  lacked  readers  had  the  name  been  left  off  the  title." — N.  Y, 
Tines. 


2  SCKIBNER'S   NEW   DOLLAR    NOVELS. 

THE    LAST  MEETING. 

By  BRANDER.  MATTHEWS. 

Mr.  Matthews  combines  successfully  the  old  style  of  story,  full  of  plot,  and, 
the  modern  more  subtle  methods.  The  motif  is  most  original  and  clear, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  author  shows  an  uncommon  literary  dexterity. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  New  York. 

"It  is  an  amusing  story  and  the  interest  is  carried  through  it  from 
beginning  to  end." — N.  Y.  Times. 

"  A  wholesome  society  novel,  a  strikingly  dramatic  and  thrilling  tale, 
and  a  tender  love  story,  every  word  of  which  is  worth  reading." — Critic. 

"A  simple  but  ingenious  plot,  there  is  force  and  liveliness  to  the 
narrative,  and  the  pictures  of  New  York  social  life  are  done  by  one  '  to  the 
manner  born.'  " — Boston  Post. 

"A  clever  and  thoroughly  original  tale,  full  of  dramatic  situations,  and 
replete  with  some  new  and  most  expressive  Americanisms." — Literary 
World. 


WITHIN    THE    CAPES. 

By  HOWARD  PYLE, 

Author  of  "The  Merry  Adventures  of  Robin  Hood,"  etc.,  etc. 

Mr,  Pyle's  novel  is,  first  of  all,  an  absorbingly  interesting  one.  As  a  sea 
story,  pure  and  simple,  it  compares  well  with  the  best  of  Cla'k  Russell's 
tales,  but  it  is  much  more  ;  the  adventures  of  Tom  Granger,  the  hero,  are 
by  no  means  confined  to  sea  life.  Though  never  sensational,  there  are 
plenty  of  exciting  incidents  and  ever  a  well-developed  mystery.  The 
plot  is  of  the  good  old-fashioned  thrilling  sort  and  the  style  strong  and 
vigorous. 

"Mr.  Pyle  proves  himself  a  master  of  nautical  technique  and  an 
accurate  observer.  .  .  .  His  style  is  good  and  fresh,  and  in  its  concise- 
ness resembles  that  of  Marryatt." — N.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"The  style  is  so  quaint,  so  felicitous,  so  quietly  humorous,  that  one 
must  smile,  wonder  and  admire." — Hartford  Post. 


SCRIBNER'S  NEW   DOLLAR    NOVELS. 

A   WHEEL    OF    FIRE. 

By  ARLO  BATES. 

Mr.  Bates'  novel  is  so  unusually  strong  in  its  conception  that  it  make 
strong  impression  on  this  account  alone.  It  is  not  only  a  striking  sto 
but  is  told  with  remarkable  power  and  intensity. 


"A  very  powerful  performance,  not  only  original  in  its  conception,  but 
full  of  fine  literary  art."  —  George  Parsons  Lathrop. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  stories  of  the  year.  "  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"A  carefully  written  story  of  much  originality  and  possessing  great 
interest."  —  Albany  Argus. 

'  '  The  plot  is  clearly  conceived  and  carefully  worked  out  ;  the  story  is 
well  told  with  something  of  humor,  and  with  a  skillful  management  of 
dialogue  and  narrative."  —  Art  Interchange. 


ROSES    OF   SHADOW. 

By  T.  R.  SULLll/AN. 

A  most  pleasant  revival  of  a  type  of  novel  that  has  been  growing  rare.  A 
story  well  told,  with  the  charm  of  a  sincere  self-respecting  '"'e  that 
does  not  lose  itself  in  a  search  after  effects  and  oddities,  and  with  a  strong 
and  healthy  plot,  not  frittered  away  by  perpetual  analysis. 

"The  characters  of  the  story  have  a  remarkable  vividness  and  individ- 
uality— every  one  of  them — which  mark  at  once  Mr.   Sullivan's  strongest 

promise  as  a  novelist All  of  Mr.  Sullivan's  men  are  excellent. 

John  Musgrove,  the  grimly  pathetic  old  beau,  sometimes  reminds  us  of  a 
touch  of  Thackeray." — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


ACROSS    THE    CHASM. 

«/?  STORY  OF  NORTH  AND  SOUTH. 

A  novel  full  of  spirit  and  wit  which  takes  up  a  new  situation  in  American  life. 
The  cleverness  of  the  sketching,  the  admirable  fairness  of  the  whole, 
and  a  capital  plot  make  the  novel  one  of  the  brightest  of  recent  years. 

"A  story  which  will  at  once  attract  readers  by  its  original  and  striking 
qjialities. " — -Journal  of  Commerce,  N.  Y. 


SCKIBNEFS    NEW   DOLLAR    NOVELS. 


"Nothing  can  be  more  freshly  and  prettily  written  than  the  last  few 
pages,  when  Louis  and  Margaret  meet  and  peace  is  made.     It  is  a  little  idyl 

of  its  kind 'Across  the  Chasm  '  not  being  an  impalpable  story, 

but  having  a  live  young  woman  and  a  live  man  in  its  pages,  deserves  hearty 
commendation." — N.  Y.  Times. 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE. 

By  Lieut.  J.  D.J.  KELLEY,  U.S.N. 

"A  Desperate  Chance"  is  as  absorbing  as  only  a  novel  can  be  when  told 
with  the  -verve  of  such  a  writer  as  Lieut.  Kelley.  It  is  a  fresh,  stirring  story, 
with  sufficient  adventure,  romance  and  mystery  to  keep  the  reader  absorbed. 
It  may  safely  be  said  that  if  the  tale  is  once  begun  it  will  be  finished  in  a 
continuous  reading,  and  we  think  of  it  as  one  of  the  stories  we  will  always 
remember  distinctly,  and  which  was  well  worth  the  reading. 

"A  stirring  sea  story." — New  York  Star. 

"  Lieut.  J.  D.  J.  Kelley's  novel,  'A  Desperate  Chance,'  is  of  the  good 
old-fashioned,  exciting  kind.  Though  it  is  a  sea  story,  all  the  action  is  not 
on  board  ship.  There  is  a  well-developed  mystery,  and  while  it  is  in  no 
sense  sensational  readers  may  be  assured  that  they  will  not  be  tired  out  by 
analytical  descriptions,  nor  will  they  find  a  dull  page  from  first  to  last." — 
Brooklyn  Union. 

"  'A  Desperate  Chance '  is  a  sea  story  of  the  best  sort.  It  possesses  the 
charm  and  interest  which  attach  us  to  sea  life,  but  it  does  not  bewilder  the 
reader  by  nautical  extremes,  which  none  but  a  professional  sailor  can  under- 
stand. 'A  Desperate  Chance'  reminds  us  of  Mr.  Clark  Russell's  stories, 
but  Lieut.  Kelley  avoids  the  professional  fault  into  which  Mr.  Russell  has 
fallen  so  often.  The  book  is  extraordinarily  interesting,  and  this  nov/adays 
is  the  highest  commendation  a  novel  can  have," — Boston  Courier. 


COLOR  STUDIES. 

By  T.  A.  JANVIER  (Ivory  Black). 

A  series  of  most  delightful  pictures  of  artists'  life  in  New  York  which  first 
attracted  the  attention  of  readers  to  Mr.  Janvier  as  a  writer  of  very 
notable  short  stories.  Certainly  among  stories  dealing  with  artists'  sur- 
roundings there  have  never  been  written  better  tales  than  these  which 
are  collected  in  this  beautiful  little  volume. 
"  The  style  is  bright,  piquant  and  graphic,  and  the  plots  are  full  of 

humor  and  originality." — Boston  Traveler. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 

PUBLISHERS, 
745  <&•  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


UNIFORM  LIBRARY  EDITION. 

MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT'S  NOVELS. 


THAT  LASS    O   LOIVRIES. 

One  volume,  12mo,  extra  clotJi,  -  -  $1.25 

"We  know  of  no  more  powerful  work  from  a  •woman's  hand  in  the 
English  language,  not  even  excepting  the  best  of  George  Eliot's." — Boston 
Transcript. 

<A  FAIR  BARBARIAN. 

One  volume,  12mo,  extra,  cloth,  -  -  $1.25 

"  A  particularly  sparkling  story,  the  subject  being  the  young  heiress  of 
a  Pacific  silver-mine,  thrown  amid  the  very  proper  petty  aristocracy  of  an 
English  rural  town." — Springfield  Republican. 

THROUGH  ONE  ADMINISTRATION. 

One  volume,  12mo,  extra  cloth,  -  -  $1.5O 

"The  pathetic  fervor  which  Mrs.  Burnett  showed  so  fully  in  'That 
Lass  o'  Lowrie's'  is  exhibited  in  many  a  touching  scene  in  her  new  story, 
which  is  only  to  be  found  fault  with  because  it  is  too  touching." — London 
Athenatum. 

LOUISIANA. 

One  volume,  12mo,  extra  cloth,  -  -  $1.25 

"We  commend  this  book  as  the  product  of  a  skillful,  talented,  well- 
trained  pen.  Mrs.  Burnett's  admirers  are  already  numbered  by  the  thousand, 
and  every  new  work  like  this  one  can  only  add  to  their  number." — Chicago 
Tiibune. 

HA  WORTH'S 

One  volume,  12mo,  extra  cloth,  -  •  $1.25 

"  It  is  but  faint  praise  to  speak  of  'Haworth's'  as  merely  a  good  novel. 
It  is  one  of  the  few  great  novels." — Hartford  Courant. 

SURLY  TIM, 

AND     OTHER     STORIES. 
One  volume,  12mo,  extra  cloth,  -  •  $1.25 

"Each  of  these  narratives  have  a  distinct  spirit,  and  can  bejprofitably 
read  by  all  classes  of  people.  They  are  told  not  only  with  true  art  but  with 
deep  pathos." — Boston  Post. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 

74?  &•  745  'Broadway ,  New  York. 


THREE  DELIGHTFUL  NOVELS. 


THE  MIDGE. 

By  H.  C.  BUNNER. 
One  Volume.       12mo.       $1.00. 

It  warms  the  heart  and  touches  with  brighter  colors  the  cold  gray  of  an  uneventful 
life  to  read  a  story  of  the  affections  ;  not  passionate  or  disordered  love  which  puts  the 
whole  world  out  of  focus,  but  kindly,  generous  feeling,  an  unconscious  sympathy  with 
humanity  in  distress.  And  this  is  the  pleasure  in  store  for  those  who  read  Mr.  H.  C. 
Bunner's  novel,  "  The  Midge."  There  is  not  a  touch  in  it  of  the  modern  cynicism 
which  cheapens  the  individual  life,  none  of  the  subtle  class  distinctions  which  Ameri- 
can snobbery  has  invented,  nor  any  gilded  morality.  It  is  the  old-fashioned  gospel  of 
humanity  which  deals  gently  with  the  eriing,  and  holds  out  a  hand  to  a  brother  in 
distress.  It  makes  of  a  generous  action,  not  a  self-denial,  but  something  which  adds 
a  pleasure  and  a  richness  to  him  who  gives  and  him  who  receives.  '\  ou  close  this 
story  feeling  that  a  narrow  life  on  the  common  level  may  be  filled  with  a  genuine 
happiness,  unknown,  perhaps,  among  the  favorites  of  fortune. — Ntw  York  Life. 


THE   LATE   MRS.    NULL. 

By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 
One  Volume.       12mo.       $1.5O. 

The  only  unfavorable  criticism  we  ever  heard  pronounced  upon  the  short  stories  of 
Mr.  Frank  R.  Stockton  was  that  they  were  short.  It  is  a  pleasuie  to  take  up  for  the 
first  time  a  book  in  which  he  treats  the  reader  fairly  in  respect  to  quantity.  "The 
Late  Mrs.  Null  "  lasts  long  enough  "o  allow  you  to  make  the  lady's  acquaintance,  and 
to  pursue  it  through  many  pages  with  the  comfortable  feeling  that  the  end  is  still  a 
good  way  off.  So  delightful  is  tho  quality  of  Mr.  Stockton's  humor,  and  so  varying 
are  the  surprises  which  his  remarkable  imagination  prepares  at  every  turn,  that  few 
readers  will  be  willing  to  leave  Mrs.  Null  until  Mrs.  Null  herself  is  ready  to  become 
the  late  Mw.  Null.— New  York  Sun. 


FACE  TO  FACE. 

One  Volume.       12mo.       $1.25. 

Those  who  approach  it  for  entertainment  will  enjoy  its  satire ;  its  admirably  man- 
aged plot ;  its  dramatic  impulse  and  movement.  Those  who  read  it  for  literary 
quality  will  not  fail  to  appreciate  the  art  which  underlies  its  construction,  and  which 
adds  to  its  fine  and  mobile  style  a  singular  artistic  effectiveness  ;  but  no  one  will  lay 
it  down  without  some  freshened  anxiety  fcr  the  future  and  some  clearer  understand- 
ing of  the  struggle  into  the  heat  of  which  civilization  is  irresistibly  moving.  It  is  a 
story  which  ought  to  be  read  and  pondered  by  all  thoughtful  people. —  The  New 
York  Christian  Union. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S     SONS, 

743  &  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


20m-7,'67(H3149s4) 


* 


LOOT  407  578  9 


J 


A     PLEAflE  DO   h'OT    REMOVE 
THiS   BOOK  CARDj 


University  Research  Library 


•j- 


:^ 

7  . 


